


It's Funny The Things You Get In To

by lyvanna



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blow Jobs, Cancer, Comeplay, Depression, Deputy Derek Hale, Face-Fucking, M/M, Mates, Panic Attacks, Past Child Neglect, Protective Derek, Rimming, Romance, Scent Marking, Secrets, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out About Werewolves, Stiles Is Seventeen, Terminal Illnesses, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-04 00:51:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 48,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyvanna/pseuds/lyvanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has been trying to hide the pain he's been feeling for a while now but when he collapses he has to face the truth - he's not just sick, he's dying. When his dad's Deputy (and Stiles' crush), Derek Hale, tells him he can save him it all sounds like a cruel joke. Because there's no way that Werewolves are real right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Very loosely based on 'Secret Vampire' by L. J. Smith. You don't need to have read that to understand this. 
> 
> Thanks to my Beta Morgan :)

Stiles rubbed at his eyes as he walked into the kitchen. Scott was already sitting at the table. They'd long-since given up the pretence of being inseparable and when either of their parents had early shifts they'd usually make their way over to the other's house for breakfast. Stiles nodded and mumbled a greeting to his friend tiredly, turning to the stove straight away and putting a pan on for eggs. He didn't feel hungry. In fact he felt the opposite of hungry. _Negative_ hungry. But it was easy to behave like normal. He tried to push the stabbing pain in his abdomen out of his mind and focussed on keeping his hands from shaking as he cracked eggs into the pan. 

“Morning,” said an insufferably cheery voice. Derek had just let himself in via the back door. Stiles turned and frowned at him. He knew that Derek wasn't actually as happy as he sounded; he just liked greeting the sleepy seventeen-year-olds as obnoxiously as possible. That, unfortunately, included walking through the door in his tight-fitting deputy's uniform that gave Stiles some confusing feelings every time he saw it. Derek's default expression around people was a scowl and it was that kind of attitude that Stiles could use this morning. And yet there he was with his shirt immaculately ironed and buttoned and stretched out over his biceps as he crossed his arms and raised one perfect eyebrow Stiles' way. Stiles looked down at his own rumpled t-shirt and boxers and turned back to tend to the eggs. 

Derek was a gorgeous green-eyed _God_ , a fact that Stiles had only been aware of for perhaps the last six years they'd been living next door to each other. He was also a jackass. Which should be a problem except recently Stiles had been starting to realise that jackass might just be his type. When Derek had been made deputy it was as if he'd done so especially to piss Stiles off. Now he walked in and out of their house like he owned it. Totally different to how Scott acted of course. Totally. 

“Make mine over easy,” 

Stiles jumped. He hadn't noticed Derek getting closer until he was leaning over his shoulder, the warm weight of his body suddenly _very_ evident against Stiles' back, fingertips brushing against his arm. He dug an elbow into Derek's side. 

“Make your own--” the pain in his gut made him bite on the rest of his words but he was sure that sounded like a complete enough sentence to mask it. He gripped the pan a little tighter and glanced back at Derek. He saw a brief flicker of what might have been concern on his face but decided he was projecting because there was no way Derek could know. Stiles was careful. And sure enough Derek's face instead broke out into a grin as he sat down at the table with Scott. 

“Come on kid, we both know you're gonna make me breakfast,”

Stiles hated it when Derek called him _kid_. He was only five years older. Which was nothing really when you think about it. Insignificant. But he could see how physically the gap might seem a lot bigger. Derek was tall, muscular and completely aware of his good looks (see: jackass). Stiles was pale, slender, and held a slumped posture; more so over the last few months. People would clock him at a few years younger and Derek at a few years older than their actual ages. He wasn't really sure why that bothered him as much as it did. He reasoned that no teenager likes to be referred to as a kid.

Scott glared at Derek across the table and Stiles felt a surge of warmth for his best friend. Scott always said he could never understand why they let Derek into the house. Once Derek had become his dad's Deputy Stiles had begged off that it wasn't his choice but that didn't explain the years before that. Years when Derek hadn't confidently walked in but had had to be dragged over by Stiles' mother just so that he'd get a good breakfast. Or when he'd started knocking meekly and Stiles had been used to opening the door to downcast, ashamed eyes. Derek was an orphan. And although his foster mother seemed nice she worked all hours and usually wasn't up in the morning to provide breakfast. Stiles understood. Maybe not at the start but he'd gone through plenty of breakfast-less days himself when his mother had been sick. 

After she had died the first time Derek had knocked on the door Stiles had screamed at him. He couldn't deal with someone else's pain, with feeling sorry for Derek like he usually did. It was too much. Derek had backed down the steps, looking scared and watching Stiles full of indecision. Then resolve had broken on his face and he'd surged forward, pulling Stiles into a tight hug and shocking him into silence. Neither of them had breakfast that day. 

After that Derek's visits had been infrequent. Stiles thought that he'd embarrassed himself or something but his dad said that Derek was just growing up. As a kid Stiles hadn't been sure what that meant but he sometimes heard the shouting next door or saw Derek walking in in the morning instead of out. Never had their age difference been more evident than in those years. Once, when he was walking back from school, he'd seen a woman in a car idling outside Derek's house. She'd called him over but he'd stayed back, well-versed in the dangers of strange people from his father. “I just wanted to know if this was Derek Hale's house,” she said. But before Stiles could decide on his answer Derek came out of his house, throwing a 'hey' Stiles' way before climbing into the passenger seat and leaning over to engage in some vigorous PDA. Stiles turned and walked the last few steps to his house. He kicked the gate open. He wasn't sure why as he only earned a bruised toe for his troubles. 

But whatever had happened with that woman a few weeks later Derek had started coming over for breakfast every day again and he hadn't stopped since. His dad had once explained it to Derek's foster mother when she'd made one of her infrequent visits that Derek was like Stiles' big brother and Stiles was pleased that they'd both worn matching scowls at the description. Stiles had a brother – Scott. Derek was just... _Derek_. 

He shuffled the eggs around the pan, not really sure what he was doing with them anymore but knowing that Scott would eat them happily anyway. The pain in his abdomen was-- _no_ , stop thinking about it. Thinking about it made it worse. There was no _it_ to think about. Nothing was happening. He turned and dumped what he would call scrambled eggs onto Scott's plate.

“Thanks man,” Scott said, instantly picking up a fork and digging in. Derek's nose wrinkled, 

“On second thoughts maybe I'd better make my own,” 

Stiles was already half-way towards making Derek's eggs, working hard on concentrating to make them perfect. The usual retorts to Derek at his complaining only managed to half-form in his head before he had to push himself back in control. Not thinking about anything else. Nothing. 

The pain in his abdomen was sharp this morning. Worse than he'd ever felt it. He needed to focus on simple tasks to stop from crying out. His body wanted him to move and be still at the same time. He had spent his whole life with a jittering under his skin and usually he knew how to handle it but each fidget this time drew fresh pain and an increasing wave of nausea. The moment his hands stopped moving on the pan the pain amplified into a negative buzzing in his ears, drowning out the sounds of Derek and Scott arguing behind him, and his throat started convulsively swallowing around nothing. He gasped for breath and when he finally found it he couldn't help it; he cried out. Behind him he heard chairs scraping as Scott and Derek got up but it was only background noise to the second wave of pain, even stronger than the first, that was now cutting through him. He fell to the floor, the pan toppling off the stove and landing on his leg. Even the burn he received didn't hurt as much as the gnawing in his stomach. He curled up, crossing his arms over his middle, and let out one last cry before blacking out. 

~

Stiles had always know that his mother was a liar. When she'd started staying home more often he knew it wasn't to spend more time with him. The hushed conversations that stopped whenever he walked into the room weren't unobserved by his seven-year-old ears. The way his dad would tear up suddenly and pull him into a tight hug. Or how she would abruptly get up and leave the room. How she stopped cooking. Then stopped eating. He'd brought home some chocolate chip cookies he'd made in school and placed them in front of her untouched (Scott had eating half of his before the end of school), not sure what she wanted but hoping this was it. She'd smiled and eaten the whole plate with him but later he'd heard her throwing them up again. His parents had finally sat him down and told him about the cancer. It seems stupid now to think it was a word he hadn't even heard before. But he was young. Much more interested in trying to get Derek to come over and play Playstation or convincing Scott to sneak out of the garden and into the woods. They hadn't mentioned dying, not right away, they'd just said that she was sick and that she would be tired a lot. 

When she came home from her first treatment he'd rushed to her, tried to jump on her lap and give her the hugs that always used to make her squirm with happiness, to lose himself in her soft, warm scent and enjoy the laugher bubbling up out of her. His dad had caught him first, told him it wasn't a good idea, that he had to be gentle now. It had never occurred to him before that that anything he gave to his mother could cause her discomfort. He was suddenly afraid. He'd watched her face twist painfully, a flicker of resentment, before she'd reached out her arms and taken him, pulled him into a tight hug that smelled too much like hospital and kissed the top of his head. 

When they'd shaved their heads together, all three of them, he'd made her laugh through the tears. His father had grown his out again but Stiles had kept his hair short, telling his mother that when the time came they'd grow their hair out together and she could braid it. She'd gone pale and gasped for breath at the laughter that image had summoned, nurses had rushed into the room and everything. At her funeral he couldn't stop thinking about that moment. For the longest time it felt like the resentment he felt for his dad was all centred on that... if he'd kept his hair short too, waiting, maybe she would have come back. It was like he gave up. He knew that wasn't it really. He was angry because they hadn't told him the truth and angry because even the truth wouldn't have been good enough, because it still wouldn't have made sense, wouldn't have been fair, that his mother could just be taken from him by some cells in her body, some tiny things that her own body had made to kill her. 

Stiles woke up in one of his least favourite places. The hospital. The room looked so much like the one he'd visited his mother in all those times that he wondered for a while if he was having an all-too-familiar dream. But the machines that flashed and beeped around him were hooked up to his arms, his chest, not hers. 

Scott was the first to notice he was awake and he hurried over, grabbing Stiles' hand and murmuring his name. It was weird. Scott hugged. Scott punched you on the shoulder. Scott elbowed you out of the way. He didn't hold your hand. He looked terrified. Everyone did. His father and Derek were standing with someone Stiles assumed was a Doctor and Scott's mom, their faces all serious. 

“What's happening?” Stiles asked, his own voice sounding strange to his ears, his mouth feeling woollen. Derek's head whipped around and he strode over to stand by Scott's side, vibrating with nervous energy and hands twitching like he was holding himself back. 

Stiles wasn't stupid. He knew what was going on. Had known for a long time. But he'd tried to convince himself that it wasn't real. That if he kept it to himself then it'd be just a figment of his imagination. He was seventeen. His body was young and it could heal itself. He was going to grow up. He was going to do his last year of school then he was going to become a cop like his dad and like--

“Stiles,” his dad came forward, standing at the foot of his bed and looking completely lost, “How're you feeling?”

“What happened?” Stiles repeated again, dodging the question. There was always a chance it wasn't true. 

“Stiles, my name is Dr Fenris, you're in Beacon Hills Hospital,” Stiles hated the way that he talked, likes Stiles was stupid child. He was a stupid teenager now. Even when he was a stupid child he'd spent a whole year running around this hospital, he knew hospitals, “You passed out at home and were brought here by ambulance,” here he hesitated, “Could I perhaps have a chat with Stiles and just his family?”

Scott's grip tightened on Stiles' hand and although it was still weird Stiles appreciated the sentiment.

“This is my family,” he said. 

It was beautifully executed, everyone got a little teary, except for Derek - who scowled - but Stiles knew that was how he showed emotion so that was ok. It wasn't that he didn't mean it, _he did_ , but if he'd been well he wouldn't have said it. If he didn't already know what was coming. He already felt like he was looking back on this moment from their perspectives, when he was gone, thinking about how it would give them comfort that he thought of them all as family. 

And with that thought he couldn't deny it anymore. 

His dad sat down on the edge of the bed and Derek moved over to frown out of the window while the Doctor explained (with help from Melissa). He explained about how they'd run tests, how they had been worried about his blood work, how he'd had X-rays and more tests (so many things seemed to have happened when he was unconscious). How he had cancer. How due to the type it was there was nothing that could be done. How he was going to die. They didn't say that last part specifically but it was implied. What they'd said was that research was going on all the time. That there were several drug trials or different treatment therapies that he had a good chance of getting onto because of his age. When they were finished there was silence and Stiles realised they were waiting for him to speak.

“When can I go home?” 

“Stiles, do you... do you understand?” his dad asked.

“I understand dad, I just want to go home,”

“We're going to have to keep you here for a bit Stiles to observe your condition,” Dr. Fenris informed him, voice an irritating calm.

He knew those words, “Can I ever go home?”

“Of course you can,” his dad snapped, anger directed at the Doctor, he knew those words too, “Soon, just not yet,” 

“Do you want...” Melissa piped up, “Scott to go home and get some of your things?” 

“Yeah, that'd be good,”

Actually what would be good right now would be all of them _leaving him the fuck alone_. The room felt stifling and tight and all of them were looking at him with such badly hidden devastation. Scott squeezed his hand one more time before getting up and walking out with his mom, followed shortly after by Dr. Fenris who looked like he was already opening the paperwork for another patient. His dad slid up the bed a little and looked down at him. 

“I know what you're thinking...” his voice was low, soft. Stiles was vaguely aware that Derek was still in the room but he didn't think that was why his dad was practically whispering, “It's not the same, you're going to be fine,”

Stiles wanted to ask his dad what part of what the Doctor had said had sounded fine to him. What part he'd not been listening to. He wanted to be angry at someone. Angry for himself. But all he could see was how alone his dad would be now. Sometimes it felt like they'd barely managed to pull together some semblance of a life after his mom had died and what they had now they'd built together. He didn't know if his dad could do that again. He couldn't make this harder on him.

“I know,” he said finally. His dad leant down and kissed him on the forehead. He ran a hand over Stiles' short hair and pulled back slowly. 

“I have to make some phone calls, will you be ok for a minute?” his eyes flicked to Derek. 

“Sure,” Stiles said, “I'm kinda tired anyway,” 

“Get some sleep then,” his dad glanced at Derek one more time before getting up and leaving the room. 

Stiles let out a breath. He knew they all meant well; these people who loved him and he loved back, but right now their love felt stifling, felt full of pressure, like they believed that if they loved him enough it would be enough to keep him alive. Things didn't work that way. So he was glad they all had tasks to focus on and things to distract themselves with. He had a feeling he wouldn't get much time to think alone from here on out. Probably for the best. He looked at Derek who was still staring out the window, his back a beautiful tense, curved line. 

“What, no words of comfort?” he didn't know why he did it, didn't know why he could be so nice to the others but not to Derek. He wanted something and the steadily building anger inside of him needed an outlet. Derek turned and looked at him. 

“How long have you known?” his arms hung stiffly by his sides, fingers slowly curling and uncurling. 

“What do you mean?” he really wished he wasn't hooked up to a heart-monitor right now because it was pretty easy to tell that his pulse just sped up. 

“How long have you known that you were sick?” 

“What do you mean? They just told me. You were here.”

Derek shook his head. He had that expression... like he was _desperate_ for an argument but he seemed to be thinking better of it. Stiles hated that. Derek loved to argue. Derek loved to argue with him. 

“I'll let you get your rest then,” he snapped, his voice so angry that Stiles almost forgot that _he_ was the one who'd just been told he was fucking dying. 

Derek walked across the room but paused in the doorway, uncertain, as if sensing his tone might have been a little harsh. And suddenly Stiles didn't want him to see him like this. All rumpled from sleep in the morning, sure, but not like this: pale and hooked up to monitors, shrivelled and weak. He knew what he must look like, he was familiar with it. So he glared, pulled together all the strength he could, and gritted out, “Get out then,” Derek looked Stiles over, mouth open like he wanted to say something, then slowly retreated out the door. 

When he was gone and Stiles was finally alone he felt like he should be crying. Breaking down like some person in a sappy, tragic movie, railing against an unjust world. But all he felt was numb. Not real. Even the anger was dissipating. Maybe it was the painkillers. 

All he could feel was the gnawing in his abdomen, aching so much now that the drugs couldn't completely numb it. So painful because with nothing else to do but sit and think it was all that he could focus on. 

He knew his mother had been lying now when she said it didn't hurt to die.


	2. Chapter 2

The next few days were a predictable blur. The drugs they had him on made him sleepy and numb and the tests they did on him only served to make him more exhausted. He wanted to tell them not to bother but he knew that his dad wouldn't be satisfied unless he had every test run and every specialist's opinion. So he submitted to being poked and prodded and stared at. Scott was a near-constant at his side, only leaving when another test had to be done. His dad would sometimes step out for a hushed phone call but he also was always around. Scott's mom came around a couple of times a day as well, as much to look after Scott and his dad as to say hello to him. He appreciated those visits the most. He decided that when he had a chance alone with her he'd talk to her about dropping in on his dad after he was gone. 

Stuff like that was a lot clearer to him now. He accepted all the things he would never do and let them go. Accepted all the things he wanted that would never happen. The idea of being squicked out by his dad and Scott's mom together made no sense to him now. They should be happy. Or at least not eternally miserable. 

Derek hadn't visited since that first day. No-one mentioned it. Stiles knew that he wasn't taking over from his dad, he wasn't senior enough for that, so there were no work reasons. He guessed it was just too much and he couldn't really blame him. 

Except that he kinda did. 

Because he'd had a crush on Derek for a while now. And he'd kinda fooled himself into thinking that Derek might have felt the same way. The way he touched Stiles sometimes, putting gentle hands on his shoulders, leaning into his personal space in the middle of an argument, just a fraction too close, their fingers brushing together under the table and his hand not pulling back. These were all things catalogued in Stiles' memory. Things that now seemed infinitely stupid and childish. He was going to die without having been kissed. Die a virgin. His grand plan to try and seduce Derek when he hit eighteen seemed like the fantasy of another person. Even if Derek had cared enough to show up, to stick by his bed, what would be the use? A few mumbles words and promises to love forever when both of them knew they wouldn't have to be held to them? Derek going through with it because he felt sorry for him? Some manufactured romance before he croaked to make his life a little more Lifetime? No, it was better that he was staying away, it was probably the most honest message that he could have given.

Stiles didn't know what he wanted now. He woke up. People ran tests. Scott tried to get him to read or play a game. In the end he settled for clicking around on his laptop, trying to look like he was interested in something, but it was all just aimless. Just a show to make them think he was still fighting. There was no fight. Nothing to fight for. It was hopeless. Every day the pain inside him got worse as his own body betrayed him. And all he wanted to do was be gone already. He didn't want to make his family suffer for longer than they should. And he didn't want to have to keep agreeing that he'd 'be positive' and 'there is always hope'.

After a week in the hospital the news of his imminent demise must have gotten out as suddenly people from school started visiting him - mostly people who had never heard of him up until now. Some came with their own cancer stories, some clearly just came to gawk, shedding tears like the tragedy tourists that they were. When the first few had shown up he'd been glad of the distraction, especially for Scott and his dad, but it'd gotten real old real soon and the hospital stopped letting people in to his room. 

Not before Lydia and Jackson had paid him a visit though. Jackson's dedication to douche-baggery seemed to be at war with traditional social norms, leaving him quiet and twitchy and Stiles wasn't too happy that this was the reason that Lydia finally learnt his name. Another object of his affections killing any fantasies he might have had of reciprocal feelings. She had her fingers curled into the arm of Jackson's sweater throughout. They didn't stay long or offer many words of comfort but the idea that this would be the last time he saw them stirred a only a vague emotion in Stiles' chest. 

And then finally...

“You can go home tomorrow,”

Stiles lifted his head up from the pillow. The world spun a little and he put it back down again. He'd been feeling listless all day, drifting in and out of sleep, the dose on his meds had been upped and he hadn't adjusted yet. He'd been in hospital for three weeks and two days. At least that's what they told him. Time had no meaning here. 

“Hear that Stiles? Home,” his dad smiled but the smile didn't reach his eyes. Stiles was well versed in the cancer patient cycle. There were only two reasons that they sent you home and somehow he didn't think he was getting better. 

“As long as he gets through the night alright,” Dr Fenris cautioned. His dad glared at the Doctor as if it was a secret they were keeping from Stiles that he was sick. He'd kinda worked it out already. 

“Sounds good,” Stiles said, attempting a smile that probably came off a little rictus. 

“I've got to go sort everything out there, will you be ok here by yourself for a few hours?” his dad asked, looking guilty as hell. He'd convinced Scott to go visit his girlfriend Allison that evening and so without his dad he'd probably be alone here for a first time in three weeks, two days. 

“I'll be fine, it's this place you should be worried about, leaving me unsupervised,” 

His dad smiled, also a little rigid, and kissed his forehead before leaving, discussing pills and home treatments with the Doctor as he walked down the hallway. Stiles stared up at the ceiling. He contemplated how there were no thoughts going through his head at all. Then realised that couldn't be true. He wondered if that was what death was like – the total absence of thought. Sounded peaceful. Peacefully terrifying. 

“Would you like the light out sweetie?” a nurse said, poking her head around the door. Sure. Why not. He nodded and she flicked the switch and pulled the door closed. He stared up at the ceiling some more. 

At some point he must have drifted off because it was darker when he opened his eyes, the light that came through the curtains now just coming from the street lights. His dad still wasn't back yet. He breathed in and the air tasted strange. It took him a moment to realise that it was fresh. Then Derek stepped into view. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Stiles jerked on the bed, “What are you trying to do, kill me?” 

“That's not funny,”

“Think about it for a little longer,” the punchline was coming soon. 

Derek was dressed in a dark sweater and jeans and he had grown his stubble out – he looked amazing. Stiles must have looked even more of a mess than he had on that first day. He sighed, such was his lot in life. He opened his mouth to ask Derek what exactly he was doing there or possibly where the fuck he had been (probably the latter as his brain-to-mouth filter had been a little overworked lately) when in one swift movement Derek was sitting on the bed beside him, leaning down and pressing his nose into Stiles' throat. Stiles froze. This was... this was... Stiles had no idea what the hell this was. He couldn't _think_ with Derek's hands bracketed his body as he leant in and his nose dragged up under his jawline to his ear. The slight tickle - the idea that he could still experience a tickling sensation - when Derek grazed his earlobe brought him back. He lifted his hands and pressed on Derek's chest. He knew he didn't have the strength, hell, it was hard enough even _lifting_ his hands these days, but Derek took the hint and pulled back, sitting up. 

“What the fuck?” Stiles questioned eloquently. Derek looked down at him, green eyes searching. Up close he looked a little more tired, a little less perfect.

“I have something to tell you,”

The heart monitor bleeped. Stupid machine. 

“Is it about why you've been avoiding me?” and really Stiles hadn't meant to say that. Hadn't meant to sound so annoyed. He surprised himself actually as the last three weeks he'd been nothing more than drifting between lethargic and agreeable depending on who was in the room. This emotion surprised him, refreshed him like the night air had a few moments before. Speaking of, “Did you climb in the window?” Derek glanced sideways in a way that meant yes. “I know you know how to use a door, you've been letting yourself into my house for years now without being asked,” he hadn't meant to sound annoyed then either but he was finding it kinda hard to turn off now. He was on a roll. 

“I haven't been avoiding you I've...” he paused, swallowed, started again, “I had something I needed to do, but I'm back now,”

“Well _lucky me_ ,” Stiles said, but now his voice was barely more than a whisper, “Glad I hung around. What did you need to tell me?”

“I'm not going to let you die,” he fixed Stiles' eyes with his own and looked so certain that for a moment the flame of hope flickered in Stiles' chest. He snubbed it out quickly but a little warmth remained. He nudged his fingers against where Derek's were on the bed. 

“I don't think it works like that,” 

“Stiles, there is a cure,”

“Derek, no there's not,” He tried to be kind though God knows why as he was the dying one being given false hope. But he knew how this felt. He wondered what alternative medicine Derek was about to suggest or experimental procedure. 

“Stiles, there is--”

“Stop!” the loudness of Stiles' voice surprised them both, “Stop, there isn't Derek. There's nothing.”

“I never thought you'd be someone who'd give up,”

Stiles laughed, or his body convulsed in the appropriate way anyway, the sound coming out of his mouth was more like a croak. But a hard croak nevertheless. So it was the power of positive thinking that Derek was going with, “It's not about giving up. It's _cancer_ Derek,” 

“So? The Stiles I know wouldn't let anything defeat him, he's a persistent little shit,” Derek said, and it was compliments like that that had endeared Derek to Stiles in the first place.

It was true, his father usually said his perseverance was one of his better qualities, since he had annoyed them all at one point or the other when a new obsession had reared it's head and he could talk of nothing else. When he'd sit down and research something for eight hours straight to fully understand it. When he'd draw up complex but complete plans for any task. He was an organiser, a planner, a researcher. But in this case there was nothing to do. His experience had taught him that. Derek's words sounded like disappointment. Stiles found didn't like being compared against himself very much. 

“That Stiles is here. And he's dying,” he said softly, still trying to be kind. 

“Don't say that,” Derek snapped.

“I didn't know you cared,” it was a stupid thing to say. Derek's whole body was tense, his face drawn and the stubble he'd mistaken for being longer from a distance he could now see was just growing in patchy. It was a little overwhelming to see the effect that Stiles' condition was having actually. But he wanted something tangible, something to confirm that he wasn't just hallucinating. For the first time in three weeks he actually _wanted_ something which is why he said what he did. Derek's eyes met his.

“Cared?” he asked. Then both in an instant and in what seemed like slow motion he was leaning in over Stiles' body. His right hand cupped Stiles' jaw, fingers sliding up behind his ear, and his face came so close that Stiles could feel Derek's breath tickling over his lips. Derek's eyes searched his and for a second Stiles thought that was it. Then Derek was leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He wished that the painkillers hadn't left him so numb because what little he could feel of the kiss was amazing. All weakness forgotten he reached up and wrapped his hands around the back of Derek's head, slipping one down to brush his neck and the other up, fingers sliding through his hair. If Derek had intended it to be a brief peck that plan went out the window. The bed creaked as he leant his weight on it fully and pressed down into Stiles' mouth, tongue flicking out to taste him and a soft hum travelling up his throat when Stiles parted his lips and let him inside. They only broke apart when Stiles had started to wonder whether asphyxiation from kissing was a good form of euthanasia and the machines around him had started up an angry beeping. 

Stiles gasped for breath and Derek watched him with concern, eyes flicking to the door for a moment to see if anyone would come. They didn't and the machines slowly returned to normal. Stiles realised that while Derek had let him go his fingers were still lazily playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. He let his hands drop back to the bed and schooled his face into one of disapproval, "Dude, I'm seventeen,"

Derek's expression wasn't as funny he'd been hoping. He withdrew into himself, eyes dropping. The exhilaration from the kiss soured a little in Stiles' chest and he reached out to tilt up Derek's head - to try and make him meet his eyes - so that he could say in a look rather than words that he was the one fucking this up not Derek. He knew his heartbeat was picking up again and Dr. Fenris was going to give him hell in the morning. The moment his finger tips touched Derek's chin he jerked backwards. 

"Hey... Hey... kidding," Stiles said softly, holding the first flutterings of panic tight in his chest. He lowered his hand to tug gently on Derek's sleeve instead and finally the other man looked at him again, eyes filled with guilty uncertainty. Stiles hated himself just a little bit for putting that look there. He gave Derek a reassuring smile, one that he hoped conveyed all of his idiocy and affection. Derek studied his face and slowly his expression transformed into a familiar scowl. “Well this sucks,” Stiles said, keeping the smile on his face, “I finally get you on my bed and I'm too weak to do anything about it,”

Derek's eyes widened and he leant back a little. The smile died on Stiles' face. Had that been a pity kiss? 

“I was serious you know,”

“So was I,” Stiles said, relieved.

“I meant about the cure,” 

Oh yeah, impending death.

Stiles reached across the bed and tangled their fingers together. He'd hoped that Derek would forget about all that after the kiss. Yes, _hoped_. He had hope back. Derek liked him. And with that knowledge came the pain and regret that he'd expected - of all the things that they'd never do together. But when he'd been warning himself against this exact scenario he hadn't factored in how good it would feel too. Good to know that his crush hadn't been one-sided all those years, that the touches they'd shared - that he'd put so much meaning into - hadn't been meaningless. He would be gone in a couple of weeks but instead of fading away he knew now that he could enjoy that time. It might not have happened in the way Derek intended but he had given him hope. 

“There is no cure Derek,” he repeated, exploring the palm of Derek's hand. 

“Stiles... I'm a Werewolf,”

Stiles' hand froze. Every bit of him froze.

“What,” he said, more statement than a question.

“I know it's hard to believe but Werewolves are real... and I'm one of them. I've been one since birth. If I bite you... you'll be one too and your cancer will be gone,” he fixed Stiles' eyes with his own as he blurted all this out. 

“ _What_ ,”

“Stiles--”

“You're a Werewolf. A _Werewolf_ ,” he shifted up on the bed so he was sitting, hands nowhere near Derek now, “Well props for not going with Vampire I suppose,” he added bitterly.

“Stiles it's true,” 

“Derek... What the fuck are you doing?!” Stiles didn't understand, he wanted to understand, wanted so badly for this to make sense. 

“I'm a Werewolf,” 

“And I'm the Great and Powerful Oz, what is the point of all this?”

“I can cure you... I can cure your cancer,”

“Nothing can cure my cancer Derek,” before he'd tried to be kind, now there was steel in his voice, “What game are we playing here?”

“No game, I can--”

“Stop. Saying. That." Stiles hissed through gritted teeth. 

“Didn't you ever notice that I kept going missing around the full moon? That I could smell Allison on Scott before you even knew they were dating? That I tracked that guy in the snow when even the dogs couldn't follow his scent? Weren't you even curious that I--”

“Stop it!” Stiles raised a hand, “Just. Stop speaking. I don't know what the fuck you're talking about Derek but I want you to stop. Don't you see that I _can't_ be cured? That I'm not going to live? That it's unlikely I'll ever spend a day outside of a hospital bed again? That very, very soon my dad is going to be all alone. You need to be there for him, you need to be there for Scott. Why are you saying all this? I just... I don't understand. Why kiss me then ruin it with all this? I thought... _I'm_ the one supposed to be in denial, not you. I don't like playing this game. I can't play fantasy 'everything's going to be alright' because _it's not_!” 

“It's true--”

“Get out,” Stiles gestured to the door, then the window, giving Derek choices. Derek grabbed his hand.

“Stiles, listen to me, please. I know it's hard to understand. I know it seems like I'm--”

“Get out,” Stiles tried to pull his hand away but he was too weak or Derek was too strong, tears were streaming down his face now and he couldn't stop them, “Let me go,”

“Please Stiles...” Derek started then stopped abruptly. 

Stiles' dad stood at the door, eyes flicking between his son and his Deputy, expression evolving slowly from shock into determination. It struck Stiles afterwards that this was the first time his father had seen him cry since he got the news. His dad strode forward and grabbed Derek by the arm, seemingly only trusting himself to say, “ _Out_ ,”

In the light from the door it almost looked like Derek's eyes flashed when the Sheriff grabbed his arm, but when he sent Stiles one last pleading look before being shoved out they were their usual green. Stiles buried his face in his pillow and begged for the drugs to send him to sleep again soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles came home the next day. Despite the dramatics of the night before his father had insisted that it was time and the Doctors had reluctantly agreed. He was glad he hadn't fooled himself into thinking things would be normal when he got back because they certainly weren't. His dad pretty much carried him up the stairs to his bedroom and explained that he wasn't allowed to use the stairs on his own unless there was a fire. And even then he should roll down. His dad literally said that. With no trace of a smile. Stiles was restricted to his bedroom and the bathroom and even that he'd had to fight pretty hard for as his dad and the Doctors made the case for a catheter. 

The distraction of having all his things around him just served to remind him that possessions really were meaningless. All the books he hadn't read yet, games he hadn't played yet, TV series he hadn't watched... and none of them interested him at all. 

But maybe the real problem was what Derek had said last night. His head was full of it. Stiles couldn't understand why he would do that, why he'd lie like that. It was a sick game. He puzzled out that if he'd been a little kid, hours from dying, maybe it'd be something he'd like to hear. Not the dangerous beast thing, but the fantasy of a magical cure. But Stiles wasn't a kid and - despite how Derek liked to call him that to annoy him - he knew that Derek knew that too. 

He felt betrayed. Worse than when Derek hadn't been turning up at all. What kind of person played with the mind of a dying person like that? No, what kind of person played with their _emotions_ like that? While the ghost of their kiss still lingered on his lips the thing that stuck in his mind the most was Derek's hand on his jaw, warm and firm. He found himself pressing his fingers to the spot a couple of times before he stopped himself. He wondered if that had been part of the act too... Part of the comforting story. He wondered if Derek even liked him at all. You couldn't like someone and do that to them. 

His dad had finally asked him about what had happened the previous night but Stiles said nothing other than, “Don't let Derek in if...” It seemed unlikely that he'd visit again, that would be too cruel, but Stiles didn't want to take the chance. His dad had nodded, jaw set. 

Considering he'd spent the last few weeks in a drug-fuelled haze any feeling should have been a plus but it wasn't. When he felt nothing then he wasn't scared of death even as he felt it approaching. Now Derek had woken his feelings up again he was afraid. His poor abused body now tried to cover him in a cold sweat and his limbs trembled. He told himself it was all to do with his illness. 

He knew he didn't have long left. Whispered conversations that he'd ignored in the hospital he now listened to while feigning disinterest. His dad, Scott and Scott's mom would have them downstairs in the kitchen but as that was directly below Stiles' bedroom and sound carried pretty well he managed to catch snippets of conversation. The first time he heard them talking about a funeral he almost stopped breathing. He knew the situation. He knew they knew the situation. And yet when they were together they were all operating in this space of denial where he'd totally beat this and a cure would be found. It was hearing them talking about finances and arrangements that really made it hit home for him that everyone knew exactly what was happening. That in a couple of weeks he'd be dead and they'd still have to deal with it. 

He felt guilty. He felt angry. He felt scared and confused. His dad must have noticed the difference because he heard the name 'Derek' spoken downstairs quite a few times, always with a tone of anger. He wondered if Derek was getting a hard time at work then remembered that his dad hadn't been there for the last month. Stiles hopes he can afford the funeral. He wants to tell his dad just to sling him into a ditch somewhere, or a hole in the ground, or the ocean... wants to tell him that he doesn't need a funeral at all and his dad should save his money. But he can never quite bring it up. 

The pain inside him feels dull now but as a trade-off he's weaker than ever. It's a good day when he can lift a glass of water to his mouth by himself. Scott had gotten this hugely distressed look on his face when he'd come over to play on the XboX and found that Stiles couldn't even press the buttons. Stiles had made fun of himself best he could, deflecting his embarrassment, but after that they treated him like glass. No, they'd already treated him like glass, now they treated him like a glass kitten with a broken leg. 

He'd been home two days when Derek tried to see him again. 

He was woken by the shouting downstairs. His father and Scott's voices carrying up the stairs while whatever argument Derek was making was lost. He pulled off his covers and at a glacial pace stood up from the bed. The door to his room was thankfully already ajar so he just had to nudge it open with his shoulder, fingers gripping onto to the door frame. He shuffled across the landing. The carpet felt alien on his feet. It wasn't new by any definition of time but on the soles of his feet that had become accustomed only to scratchy sheets it felt like a lush meadow. Or possibly a swamp. He couldn't pick his legs up enough and he swore he might have tripped over twice just on the carpet alone as he moved towards the angry voices.

“--advantage of my son!”

“I just need--”

“He's _dying_ Derek! Whatever you think you're doing--”

“Sir, if you'll just let me see--”

“No! What kind of sick pervert--”

“Dad?” Stiles' voice was tiny but the argument stopped straight away. Scott, his dad and Derek all rushed to the bottom of the stairs. All of their faces were stunned but Derek's was the worst. Even in just a couple of days Stiles had deteriorated rapidly, he knew this. He was wearing pyjamas that he'd grown out of three years ago. Derek's face was stricken and Stiles felt embarrassed. He wanted to tug at his shirt to rearrange it but his hands grabbed white-knuckled at the wall and bannister. His dad turned to Scott,

“Get him back into bed,” he ordered before grabbing Derek and manhandling him out of the room, “ _Do you see what you've done?_ ” was the last thing Stiles heard before Scott reached him and picked him up like it was nothing. 

“Uh, dude, _dignity_ ,” Stiles managed to breath in his ear but Scott didn't even smile. He put Stiles back in bed and tucked him under the covers. Stiles had gone to sleep that night with uneasy dreams.

~

He felt the light breeze on his face but didn't bother opening his eyes, “I always knew you were a secret Twilight fan,” he said, not entirely sure whether this was a dream or not.

“Stiles...” 

It was Derek. He'd known it was Derek. And yet he'd also kinda hoped it was a dream. But one of the perks of dreams was less stabbing feelings in his gut so he guessed he was awake. He lifted his lids slowly and saw that Derek had turned on his bedside lamp. All the better to stalk you by. 

“What do you want?” Stiles sighed. His fingers inched towards the call button his dad had given him. It wasn't there. Creepy. 

“I know you didn't believe me--” 

“That obvious huh?” his sarcasm was pretty much his only weapon now, he couldn't even raise his voice loud enough to shout. Maybe if he knocked his glass of water over and shattered it...

“I should have known you'd need proof. Stiles, look at me,”

Wearily Stiles turned his head and looked at...

His eyes flashed red, his canines were extended, his eyebrows gone and his forehead ridged. Stiles gasped and then struggled to bring his breathing back to normal. The thing stepped towards him and he pushed himself back on the bed, fear giving him a little extra strength.

“Stiles...” it said. It said with Derek's voice. Now that he looked he saw it was wearing Derek's clothes as well, had Derek's basic physique. The red in it's eyes faded to green. 

“Derek?” he asked. He must be hallucinating, he didn't think he'd taken more drugs than usual that night but then maybe his body was less up for fighting against them now. Regardless, “I think you're a fucking Werewolf,” Stiles pointed out.

“That's what I've been saying,” and it was hard to tell with the teeth but it looked like he was trying to smile. 

“I...I don't understand,” 

“Werewolves exit.”

“Werewolves exist," Stiles echoed slowly, "And you're one of them.”

“Yes.” 

“And...” here was where it hit Stiles. Here was where he had to stop. The proof was in front of his eyes. Sure he'd have to do a few thousand more hours of research but he couldn't exactly deny it now. He wanted to ask a million questions. What powers did Werewolves have? Why was Derek keeping it a secret? Were there lots of them around or was it really rare? But the only question that mattered was, “I get to live?”

Derek shifted and his face returned to normal, “Only if you want to. The bite is a gift but it isn't without consequences, if your body rejects it... it could kill you anyway, if it doesn't you will change, you--”

“But... You were telling the truth? I get to live?”

“If it works, yes,” Derek seemed to be working hard on keeping his expression neutral, probably responding to the hammering of Stiles' heart-beat. 

Because suddenly everything fit into place. Derek hadn't been messing with him. Derek had told him the truth. He'd found him a cure. Derek cared about him. He still wasn't entirely certain this wasn't a dream. 

_He got to live._

“Derek..” he said, voice breaking, and in an instant Derek was by his side, climbing up onto the bed next to him, putting his head down on Stiles' pillow and draping a heavy arm over his middle. Stiles froze. Derek must have read his fear but misinterpreted the cause because he pulled back, brow furrowed, one foot dropping back down to the floor. Stiles hated that he could accept Werewolves more easily than he could accept Derek touching him. A little thrill went through him at their closeness but it was a feeling he had long-since been used to suppressing. To have it reciprocated was temporarily confusing. Stiles moved his face closer to Derek's. The pillow felt damp under his ear, betraying tears that he didn't even remember falling. Looking at Derek this close wasn't easy. It felt like too much, emotions that he couldn't believe were for him playing across Derek's face. He looked him in the eye and said, “This had better not be bullshit,”, but his voice was gentle rather than accusatory. He believed. He needed to. 

“It's not,” Derek whispered. He seemed to relax a little at Stiles voice and settled back onto the bed. His eyes flicked down to Stiles' lips and Stiles felt ( _heard_ ) his heart-beat pick up in his chest. When Derek sighed his breath moved across Stiles' face, tickling and warm. Derek inched their faces closer but as their lips brushed Stiles pulled back. 

“Don't, I'd rather..” Derek had stilled beside him, face vulnerable, “Kiss me when I'm less dying.”

“Do you trust me?”

Stiles wasn't sure whether the question was related to the almost kiss or the overall situation but he took his time before answering, “Yes, I trust you.” 

“And do you want it?”

“Yes. I want it,” he answered more certainly. Derek sat up and started pulling back the bed covers, suddenly all business-like.

“Derek, what are you..?” 

He slid a hand under Stiles' pyjama top and it was simultaneously the most erotic and most humiliating moment of Stiles life because lets face it cancer didn't exactly do wonders to your six-pack – especially if you didn't have one in the first place. But for the first time since he'd gotten sick he was glad his body wasn't well enough to sustain an erection. Derek's hand looked dark against his pale skin and his fingertips were rough and warm. Stiles shivered.

Derek's fingers trailed along his skin then pulled the fabric up to expose his stomach and chest. Stiles looked up to ask another question but was stopped short by seeing Derek's face shift, teeth growing, skin reshaping itself. Those teeth looked even larger up close. Derek was watching Stiles.

“Right. Biting. The bite... involves biting... Of course...Does it hurt?” 

“Yes,”

“Ok,” Stiles nodded. Pain he could take. Pain he'd been living with. He had just wanted the truth from Derek and he got it. Derek leant down over his body and all kinds of dirty thoughts entered Stiles' mind. 

_Soon._

Maybe.

Derek trailed his nose over the flesh of Stiles' stomach before stopping at his right side. His tongue darted out with an experimental lick. Then in an instant Stiles found a hand pressed hard over his mouth as a sharp tearing pain exploded in his midriff. He tried to scream but the hand muffled the sound. He was too weak to fight back even though his every instinct was telling him to. Derek pulled back but the pain remained. He kept his hand over Stiles' mouth as a ran his tongue over the wound. When it was cleaned to his satisfaction he looked up at Stiles and slowly removed his hand.

“Are you alright? Stiles?”. There was a smear of blood at the corner of his mouth. Stiles' blood.

Stiles worked the crick out of his jaw from where it had been straining against Derek's hand, then nodded. Though in truth he wasn't sure, “How long... how long does it take?”

“Not long. I'll stay with you,” Derek reassured. His tongue flicked out to lick at the blood around his mouth and Stiles realised he must have been staring. He wasn't so sure how he felt about Derek tasting his blood. Maybe the Vampire jokes weren't so far off the mark. Before tonight it would have seemed like a bizarre action for anyone to do. In this moment he could believe anything. His fingers itched to touch the wound, to see it. It felt hot and that was lighting a fever-like flush over his whole body. But he also didn't want to see it, didn't want it to become real. Or not real.

Derek pulled the covers back over Stiles and lay down on the bed next to him, wrapping a protective arm over his chest. Stiles let the pain in his stomach throb for a few more moments. Derek dragged his thumb against the side of Stiles' throat occasionally in soothing motions. Soothing which one of them he wasn't sure. He realised Derek's face had returned to normal again and was surprised how quickly he'd gotten used to the other one. 

“How long's not long?” he asked finally.

“A day, maybe less, it doesn't happen all at once. You'll notice--”

But what Stiles would notice he never found out as his dad decided to choose that moment to check on his sleeping son. He stood in the doorway for an instant, disappeared, then came back just as quickly with his gun. Stiles had to admit the scene looked pretty bad with the window open and Derek lying on the bed curled around his body – his leg might have even crept over Stiles'. 

“Dad, don't.” 

“Deputy get up,” the Sheriff said, voice calm. Although he moved with reluctance Derek must have realised how bad the situation looked and decided to obey, slowly disentangling himself from Stiles and moving away to the other side of the room so his dad's gun was pointed nowhere near Stiles. 

“Sheriff listen--”

“Come here,” the Sheriff said, voice still unnervingly calm. 

“Dad put the gun down. Derek--”

“Stiles, are you hurt?”

“No,” Stiles lied. He didn't think it was really the time to give a complex answer. 

“Then be quiet and let me handle this,” said his dad. It was the first time he'd given anything resembling a short answer to Stiles since he'd been diagnosed, “Deputy, come here.” 

Derek backed up. He glanced from Stiles to his dad and back again. Then a millisecond after Stiles realised it was about to happen he dove out of the open window. His dad swore and ran over, pointing his gun out into the darkness but Derek must have been too fast for him because he shot at nothing. He drew back inside and closed the window with a slam, bolting it before turning to Stiles.

“What did he do to you?” now he was angry.

“Nothing, dad he was just--” 

“I could see what he was just--”

“No dad--” Stiles was stopped by his dad stooping down and pressing a kiss to his head. His fingers were trembling. This close he could see that his eyes were bloodshot and tired and the faint smell of alcohol lingered on his breath, “Dad I'm fine,” Stiles said. He wanted to tell him that he didn't need to worry anymore, that things were going to be ok, but he couldn't say that with any confidence right now. Besides his dad was like him, he needed to see proof and he didn't look like he was in the mood to hear any more about Derek tonight and definitely not anything about his healing bite that was still throbbing painfully on Stiles' side. 

“I'm going to go phone this in then I'm sleeping right in _that chair_ ,” he pointed at the chair in the corner of Stiles room. He looked around then picked up the call button that Derek had cunningly hidden in the middle of the carpet and pushed it into Stiles' hand, “You hear any noise at all, you press this,” he instructed. Then he glanced once more around the room before walking out, leaving the door wide open. 

Stiles tried to get up but found himself still frustratingly weak. He wasn't sure what Derek was going to say would happen first but it hadn't happened yet. _A day_ , he'd said, _sometimes less_. A day and he could clear all this up, show his dad the proof. He collapsed back onto his sheets and closed his eyes, a cocktail of pain meds and exhaustion dragging him under. 

~

When he woke up in the morning it took him a moment to realise what was wrong. His limbs still felt too heavy to move, his head too foggy to think, his tongue too thick to form words. _Nothing had changed_. This was how he'd woken up every day for the last few weeks. His dad was sleeping in the chair at the other side of the room. His gun was holstered at his side. Stiles felt that any sound at all would have him jumping up. Slowly, because that's the only speed he could do anything these days, he pushed back his covers and lifted his shirt. The skin was a little red sure but there was no bite mark. Nothing at all. He'd have said it was all a dream but there his dad sat as proof that something had happened.

Was it the drugs? Had they led him to see what he wanted to last night? Was Derek really just a crazy guy who liked messing with people's minds? The words _'I get to live'_ echoed through his mind with a new uncertainty. Werewolves weren't real. But then he'd seen proof. But had he? He wanted to believe so badly that he was going to live and that he and Derek had something but it all seemed too good to be true. Maybe he was just a kid in need of a fantasy after all. 

He didn't want to doubt Derek again. Doubt his own sanity again. But it was difficult to know what to think. And the only person who could maybe make this make sense was now wanted by the police. Once he woke up his dad had spent half the day hovering at his side and the other half speaking to a steady stream of officers. He'd tried to get Stiles to give a statement but Stiles had begged off... he did have cancer after all! His dad might have glared at him when he'd shouted that but the deputy had looked horrified and backed out of the room so fast it was funny. 

And with that he had to admit that he was feeling a little better. But it was so little that he wasn't sure if it was some kind of placebo effect or not. He kept hearing strange noises and sometimes he swore it sounded like Marin (Derek's foster sister who rarely visited) next door, which was such a strange choice for his subconscious to make seeing as he'd only met her twice. And sometimes it sounded like Scott and his father talking even though he knew they'd started having their conversations at the bottom of the garden out of his earshot. 

He felt hungry. For the first time in months - before anyone had even known he was sick besides himself - he wanted to eat. He couldn't handle much and was still stuck with the horrible blended stuff that was easier to swallow and digest, but Scott's eyes had nearly popped out of his head when Stiles had asked for seconds. He usually didn't even finish firsts. 

He spent the next couple of hours reading everything he could online about wolves. And Werewolves too for that matter. He hadn't been this focussed in weeks and his dad and Scott actually looked a little teary-eyed when they saw him. 

He fell asleep that night with a kind of restless excitement vibrating in his bones. This couldn't be the placebo effect, it couldn't be.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles woke up at sunrise. He stretched out languorously in his bed, bones cracking into place. As he sat up he kicked the layers of too-hot covers off the bed entirely so that they pooled on the floor. His room smelt bad. He didn't like it. It smelled like sickness and death. He rubbed a hand over his nose, frowning. Getting up he walked over to the window but as soon as his hands hit the sill he stilled. A scent had hit his nose... _interesting_. He opened the window and it was overwhelmed by other aromas. Now frowning for a different reason he walked over to his draws and pulled out clothes that all smelled rather musty. He caught sight of himself in a mirror and stilled. He was still too thin, that much was true, but his eyes were bright, his skin fresh, his whole body moving with ease. He even looked taller. He examined himself for a moment with detached interest, then returned to his task. He sorted through the clothes, finally pulling on a hoodie and a pair of jeans that weren't too objectionable. 

He knew there was a reason that the room smelled of sickness, a reason why there was something different about him in the mirror, but he couldn't quite remember. He walked over to the window and tried to catch that scent again. Nothing. But it stood to reason that if the thing it belonged to had used the window then he'd have to use the window too to find it. But first... _food_. He walked downstairs, taking extra care to be quiet, and into the kitchen. 

It was a mess. Clearly someone had been living off a lot of take-out and not really eating much of it, as there were cartons with cold food in all around. Stiles sniffed and found the freshest before tucking in. His teeth felt tender but he chewed and swallowed quickly. He was full surprisingly quickly. He put down a the box and walked back upstairs. His movements were purposeful but not rushed, a peaceful tranquility reassuring his every action. He opened the window to his bedroom and jumped down, rolling onto the grass as a landing. It didn't even occur to him that he could have just walked out of the back door. 

Outside there were even more scents, some incredibly enticing, but he sniffed around for the one he'd smelled in his room. The one that was important for some reason. He caught it again at the end of the garden and gave no thought to scaling a rough-barked tree and hopping over the hedge. He wandered for a while, his bare feet preferring the soft grass - even if it was moist with dew. It was hard not to get distracted by one delicious scent or another and several times he had to remind himself of his mission. He had walked all the way to the Beacon Hills Preserve before the scent he was following intensified and he could finally give it a name. _Wolf_. 

He shook his head. No. _Derek_. 

And just like that Derek's scent trail seemed lit out before him in big neon signs. Everything else was a blur of overstimulation, thousands of interesting layered scents everywhere, but Derek's scent was clear. Stiles walked through the forest eagerly. He would have broken out into a run except he was starting to feel hungry again, his body having already metabolised the tiny meal he'd eaten. Then two scent trails intersected and with his inexperienced nose he couldn't decide which one was newer. Frustrated he growled and the sound vibrating from his chest surprised himself. He growled again and it shook his whole body. He grinned at this new discovery. He threw back his head and _howled_. The birds in the trees scattered and a near-by squirrel darted for safety. Then in the distance an answering howl rang out. 

Forgetting his tiredness Stiles ran, crashing through the undergrowth like the Stiles of old. How he managed to see Derek before Derek saw him he didn't know but in and instant he was barrelling into him, trying to knock him off balance. It didn't work and Derek caught him in his arms with ease. 

“Derek,” Stiles said happily. Derek looked down at him like his heart was breaking. He stared for a good long minute while Stiles' smile slowly faded. Then he tugged him into a bone-crunching hug. Stiles wanted to reciprocate but his arms were pinned at his sides. He settled for nuzzling into Derek's neck and discovered to his surprise that he found that more satisfying than he'd expected. He dragged his nose along Derek's throat, up to his ear and back down again, drinking in his scent. The rough scrape of Derek's stubble on his jaw told him when Derek started doing the same. He let out a soft rumble in his chest and then Derek was backing him up against a tree and burying his face into Stiles' neck, nuzzling, kissing and administering the occasional lick to his skin. He felt calm. _Content_. Derek kissed his way along his jawline and up to his mouth. Their lips met soft, sweet and tender, Derek's breath tickling along his cheek as he pressed in. The moment his tongue slid into Stiles' mouth it was like something ignited under Stiles' skin, growing steadily from the calm into a warm trembling heat. He moaned and slid his hands around Derek's waist, digging in hard with his fingers. Derek broke the kiss and drew back just slightly. 

“It worked,” he breathed, looking down at Stiles with amazement. Stiles wasn't really sure what he was talking about but he wanted to go back to the kissing so he nodded and inched his mouth forward again, but Derek backed off, removing the hard line of his body from Stiles' and leaving him feeling abandoned in the few inches of air between them, “Does your dad know where you are?”

His father. _His father_. Stiles frowned. There was something important there but his memories were hazy shapes for tilting at. It felt difficult compared to the simplicity of what he wanted now, which was Derek's body back against his. He leaned in with a whine, pressing his nose to Derek's collarbone. Derek sighed and ran a hand down the back of Stiles neck, “We need to get you back. They'll be worried sick and they'll think I took you... I'd really rather not get shot today,” Stiles growled at the idea and Derek cupped his jaw and tilted his head upwards. He frowned down into Stiles face, eyes searching. Stiles tried to lean forward and kiss him again but Derek pushed him back gently, “Actually I think we'll start with getting you some food first,” 

Finally something broke through Stiles single-minded mission - _food_. Food sounded good, “Food,” he said agreeably. Derek smiled, relief flickering over his features,

“Good, stay with me,” he said before glancing around and picking out a direction to walk in. Stiles followed easily, slipping his hand into Derek's and twining their fingers together. Though Derek didn't pull back he tensed a little. Stiles rubbed patterns into the back of his hand to try and sooth him. They found a gas station soon enough and Derek ordered Stiles to stay out of sight when he went inside. Stiles shifted unhappily where he stood, watching Derek through the windows. It wasn't just that he missed him but that he felt that Derek was doing something dangerous... though again he couldn't quite remember why. He didn't feel calm again until Derek was out and leading him back into the woods. When they were far enough away from the road Derek fished into the bag he was carrying and started handing Stiles food. 

The moment anything was in Stiles' hand he devoured it devoid of preference. Occasionally Derek would tug a half-eaten sandwich from his hand and force a bottle of water there instead but he soon went back to eating again. They sat on the leaf-strewn ground, Stiles cross-legged and leaning up against Derek's side. At first he was only operating under two very distinct instincts. _Eat_ and _Derek_. But as the first started to get satisfied other thoughts started entering his mind like he was slowly waking up. It started with his senses, he became more aware of the sounds around him, could actually hear a breeze approaching before it got to him and then could hear it disappearing off into the distance like a whispering train. He could smell everything - everything that was there and everything that had been there. He tried to turn his nose towards Derek and just focus on his scent because everything else was just too overwhelming. Slowly his mind started forming more linear thoughts. 

“Hey,” he said slowly, looking at Derek. 

“Hi,” Derek returned, the relief on his face now more than a flicker. And Stiles eyes... his eyes must have been better, been amazing, because now when he looked at Derek it was like staring into the sun. No, more like the moon, because he was picking out every minute feature, every ridge, every ingrowing hair, the darkness under his eyes and the flush on top of his cheeks. It wasn't that he looked any different, but that there was just suddenly more, “Feeling better?” Derek cautioned.

“Feeling better?” and then _everything_ came back to him. The weeks locked inside, unable to move, unable to eat, to sleep, the fear and the loneliness and the people around him pretending to be happy, looking at the same four walls and drinking the same blended meal... when had it become summer outside? He smiled at Derek, a real, big, glorious smile, “I think it worked,” 

Derek hummed and nudged against his shoulder because it was obvious, “I think it worked too,” 

“Derek,” Stiles repeated, “It worked!” 

He laughed and jumped to his feet then looked around. He wanted to do everything. Climb that tree. Chase that squirrel. Track the scent of a deer he was picking up. He wanted to run, run, _run_... He looked down at Derek. He wanted... His smile dropped.

“Dad,” he remembered, “Shit, Derek my dad, he's going to be freaking out. What am I doing out here anyway?”

Derek stood, brushing some leaves from his jeans, “I'm not sure but I think you were malnourished. The bite cured you but it can only work with what it's given and your body was so weak... I think your mind let your instincts take over, your _wolf instincts_ now, as a survival tactic, it's why I fed you when I realised, it'll probably still take you a few days before your full senses come in,”

“This isn't it? There's _more_?” Stiles marvelled, he couldn't imagine it, “How have you lived your whole life like this and not... like become superhero or gone mad or-- actually forget questions, we'll do those later because I have about a _million_ of them... but I need to get back to my dad,” Derek nodded, continuing to be strangely serious. Stiles lifted his head and sniffed, “I think I can _maybe_ find the way by myself but it might be better if you walked me,” 

Derek stooped and picked up the litter that Stiles had strewn upon the ground in his gluttony then lifted his arm to indicate for Stiles to lead the way. Stiles reached out automatically to take his hand but Derek pulled it back quickly and made himself busy stuffing the litter into a bag. Stiles felt himself cringe twice, once as the boy and once as the new thing living inside him, the _wolf_. Their confusion and hurt were in complete unison but he decided strange behaviour could wait until later as it must have been mid-morning by now and his dad was sure to have the entire department plus state police out looking for him. 

They made quick work of moving through the woods. The new energy that Stiles had seemed to feed off the movement rather than be exhausted by it. Derek only corrected his course twice - other than that they remained in silence. The new sensations around him were enough to keep him distracted enough but he couldn't stop himself from glancing over at Derek every so often and wondering. It wasn't until he started smelling more people and homes that he finally found the need to start a conversation, “What are we going to tell him? The truth? I mean can we tell him the truth? I mean we have to tell him something. I can't just disappear one day and come back cured a few hours later, we could fool some people but not my dad or Scott or Mrs. McCall...” he frowned as the list got longer, “Plus we need to clear your name,” 

“I don't know,”

Stiles stopped walking.

“You don't know? Didn't you have a plan?”

Derek scowled and it was such a nice change from the frown he'd been wearing (they were different, honest) that Stiles almost cheered. He suspected if he had it might have come out as a yip so he was glad he restrained himself.

“This was my plan. Give you the bite, cure you, save you,”

“Well...I guess it's a good thing I'm the brains of the operation,” 

“What are we going to do then, _brains_?” Derek asked, eyes rolling at Stiles' chosen title.

Stiles grinned wickedly, “Same thing we do every night Pinky,” Derek blinked, “Oh _come on_ you couldn't just put that out there and not expect me to respond. And I can't believe you haven't seen Pinky and the Brain,”

“I just don't think trying to take over the world will help us,”

“How are you even real?” Stiles marvelled before reaching forward and tugging on the lapel of his jacket. 

“What's your plan?” Derek asked, unamused, eyes tracking the movement of Stiles' hands. 

“We go back to my house, we tell my dad the truth, he cries, I cry, we all hug, he takes you off the most wanted list, we go out, movie, dinner, you take me back to your place... the second part is a lot like this old plan I had but I adapted it--”

“How am I supposed to even get into your house? Your dad must have made it like Fort Knox.”

“You're telling me that with these senses and reflexes you can't get past a couple of _local Deputies_? I've seen you guys playing softball and it's not a sight to strike fear into any heart,” 

“And we tell him the truth?”

“Yes. Unless... there's not some kind of Werewolf code is there? Or a secret society that kills anyone who shouldn't be in the know?”

“I was raised by humans,” was Derek's unreassuring non-answer. _Spidey-senses definitely tingling_.

“I think it's the best option Derek if.. if you think that's ok?” Stiles examined Derek's face, he didn't know why he was acting so strange and it was making him nervous. His hands itched to reach out and touch but Derek's response before had him anxious. The wolf inside him was pacing. Derek nodded and they started walking again.

~

They got to his house with surprising ease but as predicted there were people all around. Two police cars sat outside the house and three Deputies with dogs patrolled the back yard. A local news crew was either setting up or taking down some equipment and several of the neighbours had given up all pretence of being disinterested and were standing in the middle of the street talking in loud whispers. He heard a lot about how they'd probably find him in pieces, raped and tortured. It was said with a little too much glee for his liking. And Derek's too as the man at his side let out a low growl when his name was brought up as 'that pervert next door'.

“I can lead the dogs away and you can sneak in,” Derek offered. 

“Nope, you're not getting out of it that easy,” Stiles said, fixing Derek with a severe look.

Derek ignored his expression and lifted his head, “Your dad and Scott are inside,” 

Stiles turned slowly and sniffed. Although he could pick out some familiar scents they were all a little too new to him to be able to be as certain as Derek was. The only scent that stood out to him around here was the one of the person standing next to him. He guessed they weren't supposed to talk about that yet.

“Shall we see if the old 'throwing a pebble' trick works?” he stooped and picked up a fair sized rock from the ground and hurled it with all his new strength to the right. It landed and one of the dogs looked up but the other two kept sniffing at the ground. “Huh, I don't know if that's comforting or not,” Stiles mused. He caught Derek rolling his eyes next to him and had another of those cheer-yip impulses that he quickly smothered, “Alright you got any bright ideas?”

Derek threw back his head and howled. Six heads, dogs and men, all snapped up at once. The sound reverberated through Stiles, making him feel a little punch-drunk, so he barely noticed Derek dragging him to the side and out of the way of the men and dogs now charging past them. When he came back to himself he glared, “I'm fairly certain that was the exact same plan,”

“Mine worked,” 

“No no, you can't get smug, that was my plan with one tiny modification,” Stiles groused. Derek shrugged. 

“If I can't get smug, then what's this emotion I'm feeling?” 

Stiles reached out and grabbed Derek's hand. Derek started and tried to pull away again but Stiles tightened his grip. He held him there for a moment before speaking, “I don't know what's wrong, or what's going on with you... or us right now but please don't fucking leave me alone in there,” he begged. His heart was pounding. Derek stopped trying to pull away. He slid his fingers between Stiles' and squeezed lightly. The instant calmness that came from their connection let Stiles breathe for a moment until he felt ready. Then he walked forward and Derek followed.


	5. Chapter 5

It was just dumb luck that the Sheriff saw Derek first. Or maybe Stiles looked so different that his eyes were immediately drawn to the familiar. Regardless he twisted from the table in the dining room where he and Scott had been studying a map and pulled his gun out in one fluid motion, levelling it on Derek's chest, “Where is my son?” 

Unhelpfully Derek moved in front of Stiles, eyes trained on the gun, twisting the arm of the hand that was still holding Stiles' behind him so that Stiles couldn't move. Bastard. Stiles lifted up his free hand and waved it over Derek's head, “Uh, dad--” 

He barely registered the shot ringing out before he was was flung to the floor, Derek's body covering him, pressing him down. This close he could hear the low, rumbling growl vibrating through Derek's body and into his own. Actually it was probably more the vibrations that he sensed as the gun being set off so close had his ears ringing. He looked up and Derek's face had changed, his teeth were out and his claws made little puncture marks in Stiles' hoodie. His eyes blazed red. Without thinking about it Stiles tilted his head to the side and offered Derek his neck. The Werewolf kept his eyes up, looking for danger, but his face lowered a little until his nose lingered above where Stiles' pulse was strongest and he breathed in. His claws retracted and the growling lessened. 

“Stiles?” 

His dad's face appeared over Derek's shoulder, completely bewildered. 

“Hi dad,” 

Cautiously Stiles raised his hands and placed them on Derek's chest. By tiny increments he moved them both until he could sit up. He kept a hand on Derek's shoulder, sneaking a thumb under the collar of his shirt to rub at the skin beneath comfortingly, as he looked up at his dad and smiled weakly. Only years of gun safety training seemed to be stopping the Sheriff from dropping his, instead it hung loosely from his fingertips, pointed towards the ground. Stiles really wanted him to put it down before he saw Derek's face. 

“Scott..?” he could smell Scott rather than see him, his friend having ducked for cover at the shot like any normal person. He slowly pulled himself out from under the table and stared wide-eyed at the situation, “Scott, could you take my dad's gun?”

“Stiles.. what's wrong with your hands?” 

Stiles looked down. He'd been so preoccupied with Derek's changes that he'd not even noticed that his own claws were out. He had claws. He curled his hands into fists in an attempt to hide them.

“Nothing's wrong. Just... gun, please?” he looked at Scott pleadingly. Scott stepped forward, crouching a little as if the Sheriff was a wild animal - which under the circumstances was funnier than he could know - and slowly plucking the gun from the Sheriff's hands. As soon as it was gone from his grip the Sheriff sat down on the floor with a thud, “Dad!” Stiles scrambled over Derek to reach his father. An arm snaked out to grab him around the middle and he was caught between the two. The looks on Scott and his father's faces told him that Derek must have turned around. He settled his arm over Derek's and rubbed gently, “It's ok,” he assured all three of them. Maybe himself too. A cautious knock at the door had Derek's grip around him tightening. 

“Sheriff?” came a voice from the other side, “Is everything ok?” At first Stiles wondered how they'd known then he remembered. Oh right, gunfire. Only his dad's voice would stop them from bursting though the door in a couple of seconds. 

“Dad...” he said softly. His dad stared at him for a moment then cleared his throat,

“Everything's fine in here Deputy,” he called out, “Just a minor accident, no injuries,” 

“Are you sure?” the door handle started to turn. 

“Quite sure! Go with Davidson to check out Veterinary Practice, I just got a tip he might be hanging out there,” 

After a pause the doorknob righted itself and they heard footsteps walking away. Stiles let out the breath he'd been holding. 

“Stiles..” he only had time to turn his head back before his dad was surging forward and hugging him, tugging him forward and not caring that Derek's arm was still around his middle and not showing any signs of moving. Stiles closed his eyes and hugged him back, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. He got to live. 

When he opened his eyes again, tears tracking down his cheeks and into his dad's shirt, he saw Scott hovering nearby, eyes darting from Derek to Stiles and back again. As soon as their eyes met Scott flung himself forward as well and wrapped his arms around Stiles and his dad. It was very warm and very constricting but Stiles wouldn't have changed a bit of it. Months of being treated like tissue paper were being forgotten in that one hug. 

The same thought must have struck his dad as he suddenly pulled back, taking Scott with him. He kept his arms out, frozen, and looked at Stiles, “How...?” he shook his head, “How is this...?” he looked at Derek. Stiles twisted and saw that Derek's face had returned to normal again. His arm loosened then let Stiles go. Stiles reached back and braced a hand on Derek's shoulder as he stood up, stretching out his legs. Apparently Werewolves could still get cramp. Once he was up Derek rose next to him as did his dad and Scott. Stiles looked at all three of them before realising they were waiting for him to give an explanation. He sighed and scratched the back of his neck. 

“Could I get something to eat first?” 

“Eat?” his dad asked weakly. 

“Yeah I'm... kinda hungry now. Like all the time,” 

“I'll order some pizza,” Scott offered. 

“Pizza sounds good,” 

Scott looked at each of them in turn to make sure no explanation was going to happen when he was out of the room before to going to find his phone. 

“Is this the kind of conversation I'm going to need a drink for?” his dad asked, but before Stiles could confirm, deny or protest his dad had walked out of the room to go find a bottle. Stiles looked after them both, feeling oddly lost. 

Derek reached out his hand. Stiles blinked at it for a moment then up at Derek. He gave him a soft encouraging smile. Stiles remembered his request outside. He slid his hand into Derek's and they walked together into the kitchen.

~

“Werewolves,”

Stiles and Derek sat across the table from his dad and Scott. The pizza sat between them but Stiles was the only one tucking in. He wiped greasy fingers on a napkin and nodded at their sceptical expressions. Because he had to eat and he couldn't hold Derek's hand at the same time Derek had compromised by sitting closer, pressing their legs together under the table. It had not gone unnoticed but Stiles knew his father was filing it away for later.

“Yes sir,” Derek confirmed. Stiles glanced across at him. It wasn't that Derek didn't call his dad 'sir' sometimes but not usually in this house around this table. Here he was usually just another member of the family. Now he was sitting with tension running through every part of his body, his shoulders set, fists clenched on his lap. Stiles nudged him gently with his knee. 

“Turns out it's true, I didn't believe him either at first,” he took another bite of pizza and spoke through it, “But, well, just look at me,” 

“He's... there's no cancer?” his father directed the question at Derek. 

“You'd have to get a hospital to check for sure but no, I don't think so,” 

Stiles' father shook his head and leant back in his chair. Even with proof in front of him he was clearly finding this hard to process. Stiles stared down at his hands. He'd only made his claws come out once before but he'd been startled and he couldn't remember how. He tried to remember the feeling, it must have been fear, but his mood was a little too buoyant for that at the moment. He got to live. 

“Derek show... something,” he said casually before realising that sounded a little cruelly blasé. Perhaps Derek was ashamed or embarrassed. Perhaps showing claws and things outside of immediate danger was an intimate thing. He didn't know Werewolf etiquette yet. Derek's eyes flashed red and Stiles slid a little down in his seat. He wasn't sure whether that was an answer to his request or an admonishment but it worked for both. Scott and his father stared. For a long time. Stiles chewed on his pizza. 

“And have you always been...?” his father asked finally, “Or were you changed like Stiles?”

“I was born a Werewolf,”

“So you're not monsters,” 

“ _Dad_ ,” Stiles hissed, a little appalled. 

“I suppose it depends on your definition,” Derek answered easily, the steady pressure on Stiles leg the only thing indicating that the question had irritated him, “We live by the same morals and laws as humans,” his face dropped a little, “I wasn't raised by Werewolves, I will do my best to answer as many of your questions as I can but there are some things I don't even know yet about Werewolf culture,” 

“Dad,” Stiles said, trying to disrupt the flow of the conversation, “I'm alive. Ask questions sure but.. be happy?”

“I'm just trying to understand what this means for you Stiles,”

“It means I get to live,” Stiles said, leaning into the table and fixing his eyes to his dad's. 

“And what is all this?” the Sheriff waved his hand across the table and Stiles glanced down. Without even meaning to he'd grabbed Derek's wrist when he'd leant across the table. He let go. Then held a furious internal debate as to whether that was the right move or not. He looked from Derek to his dad and really wished that he could find less embarrassing words to come up with the connection he felt, the calmness, safety when he touched Derek. How his inner puppy wanted to do backflips when they were close. Even before he was changed he'd felt that way but whether it was rush of new life or... well, those two kisses, the things he felt were fare more intense now. He was pretty certain Scott had known about his crush for a while but he felt his dad, being a Sheriff, would surely have picked up on it. He wished he'd had a chance to talk to Derek about this before they'd come back but Derek had been acting so strangely and he'd been so eager to make sure his dad was ok... His dad was looking at him like he expected an answer and he wished that they could--

“It's a pack thing,” Derek said simply, “Because I turned Stiles he is part of my pack. I am his Alpha. Packs find comfort and reassurance in touch, in closeness,”

And although it wasn't a denial, wasn't a rejection, there was something in Derek's words that made Stiles draw back a little. He tried to push away the hurt for later. This wasn't the time. His father nodded.

“And what else does being a Werewolf mean for Stiles?”

“I don't understand dad, are you angry?” Stiles asked, he was a little annoyed himself for...reasons. He knew this was his dad coping. Slipping into his police persona, interviewing suspects, gathering information. This was his dad processing what was going on. But suddenly Stiles felt like he wanted the answers for himself first, wanted to ask Derek the questions (a lot of questions now actually), wanted him looking at him as he answered and not his father, wanted to be talked _to_ and not _about_. 

“We function on a daily basis just like humans.” Derek answered, ignoring Stiles' question, “Our senses are better, our reflexes, we're stronger. You saw how we can change if there is danger. Stiles will need to learn to control that. Especially around the full moon. But other than that he can live a normal life,” 

"Full moon," Scott echoed, a little awed. He reached across the table for the last slice of pizza but his fingers stuttered when he caught Derek tracking his hand. Stiles nudged the box towards him, a half-smile all he could muster at the moment. His eyes flicked back to his dad in time to see his face, closed-off and serious, as he asked Derek,

“And children?” 

Stiles got up and walked out of the house, slamming the door behind him only remembering when the glass shattered that he was a little stronger now. He didn't look back though, just walked away like a moody majestic motherfucker because despite what was happening in that kitchen he still wanted to maintain the idea that Werewolves were cool. He was pissed. Very pissed. He hated that his father had asked that question. Hated that Derek was probably answering it right now, cool and detached, like nothing was private or should be talked about with him first. But mostly he hated the little worm of doubt that was now swirling around in his guts. 

First kiss was when he wasn't a wolf. But then it could have been a pity kiss. A goodbye kiss. A 'throw the kid a bone' kiss. Second kiss was afterwards. If his senses were numbed by drugs when he was sick they were sharp as anything when he'd first been turned. He knew Derek had wanted to kiss him, _knew it_. But maybe it was a pack thing, a thing that happened without his control. Derek had after all been without a pack his whole life. Maybe he'd confused himself with what he wanted. It certainly made his sudden reluctance to touch in the forest make a bit more sense. 

He didn't know why this was suddenly the most important thing to him. He was a alive and well and he should be happy but it was all he could focus on. His life had been so devoid of meaning for so long that it swallowed up this new obsession like a starving man. It felt like rejection but stronger. He wondered if wolves could smell emotions. 

He heard Scott opening the door and walking down to him. He felt his nervousness as he approached but he didn't turn until Scott said, “Hey,” and Stiles only needed to see Scott's face before he pulled him into a hug. His friend responded in kind and they held onto each other for a long moment until Scott said, “Ahh, you're a bit stronger now,” and Stiles had to loosen his grip.

“Sorry dude,” 

Scott rolled his shoulders to work out a kink, “No problem,” he looked at Stiles then his face broke out into a grin, “This is awesome,” 

That was more like the reaction that Stiles had been hoping for.

“I know,” his grin mirrored Scott's. 

“Really, really awesome. I can't believe we almost... Stiles you have no idea about what happened today, your dad phoned me at like six in the morning and I thought...” he bit his lip and shook his head, Stiles' good mood plummeted again, “But you were missing and we couldn't work it out because you could barely move, and your dad was sure it was Derek. And I guess he was right? But he still couldn't work out how. And I came over and everyone was just running around everywhere and your dad was on TV and calling all these people and I was just sitting in your room and thinking about how Derek had known to take your favourite hoodie for you,” he gestured at the red one Stiles was wearing, “then your dad gets this idea to plot out on the map places we'd all been together incase Derek had taken you there and then you just walked in,” Scott shook his head in disbelief, “And you were fine,” 

“Sorry,” was all Stiles could say, “I didn't mean to put you guys through that, put my dad through that. I... I mean you get it though right?”

“Yeah. Werewolves. I think your dad would have locked Derek up if he'd started explaining that one. Then he wouldn't have been able to turn you and...” Scott shook his head again then returned from his thoughts to look at Stiles, “You're going to be ok,”

“Scott, I'm not just going to be ok, I'm going to have super powers, I am a super hero,”

Their next hug was no less enthusiastic than the first, though Stiles tried to hold himself back a little. He loved Scott for not even mocking him a little. When they broke apart both of them had shed manly tears. 

“Oh, your dad wanted you to come back in to talk about what we're going to tell people about your recovery,”

“He wants to speak to me now does he?” 

“Stiles...”

But Scott didn't need to say anything. It was the most ridiculous of situations and none of them could have been any better prepared than they were. He was going to live. How could he be angry with his father? How could he be angry with anyone?

When he entered the kitchen again he walked straight past Derek and opted to lean up against the counter by his father instead. He felt eyes tracking him but he looked at his dad as he asked, “So where do we go from here?”

“Well I haven't called off the search yet. But I need to soon before it escalates. For your illness I think we have no choice but for you to pretend to be ill for a few more weeks. Stay in the house at least. Then we can take you to the Doctor and have you properly checked out. I don't know what the tests will show,” he glanced across the table to Derek but Stiles kept his eyes fixed on his father, “but we may have to enlist Melissa's help to make sure no suspicions are raised,”

“We'd have to tell her anyway,” Stiles said. His dad nodded,

“Today probably. We can say you wandered off but we'll have to get Melissa to say that she's checked you out or it'll look to suspicious. As for Derek...” Stiles finally looked at the other wolf, their eyes meeting instantly. A very strong part of him told him to move closer, told him to touch, to bare his neck. He looked back at his dad, “I will have to publicly say that he didn't kidnap you and that in my distraught state I made a mistake. If you come on TV with me,” he said to Derek, “and we admit no hard feelings I think that should smooth things over,” There wasn't a trace of annoyance in his father's tone, or worry about having to humiliate himself in front of the town. 

“And that's it... we're all planned out?” Stiles asked softly. He didn't think he was really need at all for consultation but it was nice that his dad had actually spoken to him this time. 

“Yes,” said his father before standing up and wrapping Stiles in a hug so robust that even his new strength was no match, “I love you son,” his dad murmured into his hair, “I am so pleased I get to keep saying that,” 

“Me too. And I love you too dad,” 

“I still can't believe this is happening,” and for a moment his father's professional persona dropped and Stiles saw confused astonishment he was really feeling.

“I suppose there's still a chance that this is a hallucination made up by my dying mind to comfort me as I slip away,” Stiles mused. His dad pulled back and looked down at him with a horrified expression, “Too soon?” 

“Yes,” 

And while normally Stiles would have had a comeback there were some things he found it hard to be too flip about. The memory of his mother's feeding tube, her frail hands, was one of those things. His dad gave him one final squeeze then let him go and left the room to go put his plan into motion. Scott glanced between the two of them then excused himself to go call his mom. 

Stiles looked up to Derek walking towards him. He bracketed his arms either side of Stiles on the counter and leant in. Stiles' heart was going haywire and he wished that he could hide it but he knew he'd never have the option of denial again, Derek would always know what he was thinking. Just like he always had. That made a bit more sense now. He reached out with his new senses and caught confusion, fear and a little bit of lust. He didn't know if he was reading Derek or himself. 

Derek took a long sniff along Stiles' neck then started rubbing against his throat with his cheek, his mouth, his stubble dragging against the skin. Stiles hadn't spent as much time as he'd like researching wolves but he knew this was scenting. His own wolf seemed content with Derek's scent and didn't demand the favour be returned. He let Derek for a moment before putting a hand on each shoulder and gently pushing him away. Derek swayed back on his feet but kept his hands on the counter, keeping Stiles in place. 

“Less confusing touching please,” Stiles said softly. Hurt flashed across Derek's face before he stepped back out of Stiles' space. Stiles smothered the whine that threatened to come out but followed up with, “I think I told you how I felt before but if this is just a pack thing, if you just think of me like a friend or like....” he searched for the right word but only came up with the one he feared the most, “Like a brother...” 

It was the word that he'd worried about long before he got sick. The word that he'd cringed at when someone compared them. The word that had started to make his crush on Derek, for as long as he had a crush, feel wrong. If Derek just saw him as a brother, saw him in the same way he saw Scott... 

“I don't feel like you're my brother Stiles,” Derek said softly, “I think you're a newly turned Werewolf with your emotions all over the place and I don't want to take advantage of that. I won't take advantage of that. I think that you're part of my pack now and I'm your Alpha and that might make you feel something you don't really mean,” 

“Derek... remember not five minutes ago when you were telling my dad about how you weren't raised by Werewolves and how you were born a Werewolf and so have never been human?”

“Yes,”

“Then stop guessing how I might feel and worrying about how you might be taking advantage, I'm still Stiles ok? Stiles 2.0 sure but Stiles, the same Stiles who has had a crush on you for si—some number of years,” he reached forward through the gap between them and cupped Derek's cheek, “If you don't want this to happen then that's fine, but don't reject me because of how you think I should be feeling when I'm telling you you're wrong,”

Derek gave him a searching look and Stiles felt the tension inside him building. Derek closed his eyes and turned his face into Stiles palm, pressing a kiss to it. Stiles let out a shuddering sigh and fell forward. He turned Derek's head and pressed their lips together forcefully. As it was only his third kiss ever and the first he'd initiated he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing other than working with instinct. He wrapped his fingers around the back of Derek's neck while he slid his tongue into his mouth. Derek's hands went to his waist and dragged him in closer. Stiles felt the relief and he knew it wasn't just him this time. When they finally broke apart Derek murmured, “A crush is one thing Stiles, this is...”

“I know,” Stiles breathed against his mouth. Because he felt it too. Crush had been a bit of a flip way to describe how he felt about Derek. He couldn't think of any other besides love and putting that out there was just asking for his heart to get stomped on. Crush was a nice introductory word, a nice lead-in. He felt like he'd loved Derek for his whole life. Even - maybe especially - when they were being massive jerks to each other. But everything was intensified now. His whole body hummed at Derek's closeness, and alternated between complete calm and raging heat at his touches. It was a tug inside his chest that connected them. 

“You're young,”

“So are you, lets not pretend that twenty-two is ancient here or something. In a year... no, ten months? In ten months it wouldn't have mattered,” he dipped his head to Derek's neck and breathed in, “Lets just be happy ok?”

Happy was a big word for both of them. Derek had grown up without a family, Stiles had lost half of his. Happy as it was shown in the movies with everything being alright forever was an unattainable thing for them. They couldn't live that story and they struggled finding another that didn't end in the protagonist's death. But at this moment, arms wrapped around each other, death tricked until another day, their own kind of happiness seemed possible. 

Derek let out a little noise, a gasping whimper, before tugging Stiles in and peppering his mouth with kisses. He moved along Stiles' jaw and down to his throat and although it was starting to become an obsession now Stiles didn't mind. He might have let out his own little whimper in fact when Derek started sucking a bruise into his skin just above his collarbone. His knees weakened and he sagged against Derek. 

They broke apart an instant before Scott walked back into the room. Their expressions must not have been very Sphinx-like though (Derek was panting and possibly blushing and Stiles was sure he looked the same) as Scott paused in the doorway with raised eyebrows. Stiles tried to hide the mark on his neck none-too-subtly with his hand. Scott's look turned from surprised to disapproving but it was mostly directed at Derek so Stiles thought he was safe from a lecture for a little while longer.

“My mom's on her way over so get ready to explain everything all over again,”

Derek nodded seriously but when he walked past Stiles into the living room he reached down and pinched his ass, insuring that Stiles heard absolutely nothing of the conversation with Mrs McCall.


	6. Chapter 6

There was nothing good about dying of cancer. Absolutely nothing. But when Stiles looked back on some of the worst weeks of his life it wasn't the ones before his change that he remembered, it was the ones after. When he'd agreed to stay inside to maintain their lie he'd not really considered how deathly boring it would be. With new senses, new energy and a second chance he wanted nothing more than to be out enjoying himself rather than stuck inside the house like the invalid he was pretending to be. Without the fog of pain and drugs he felt every second of his new confinement keenly. 

The worst thing was not seeing Derek. His dad had asked them both to stay apart for a little bit while things died down. They'd both agreed. Stiles had been lying but apparently Derek had not. Of course this was the 21st Century not the 14th so not 'seeing' each other took on a very liberal meaning with the existence of phoning, texting and Skype. The latter was the one most likely to get them caught though so it was reserved for emergencies only. Stiles still thought Derek was being a little too respectful of his dad's wishes but the first text that Derek sent him when he protested was, _'who is your dad more likely to shoot, you or me?'_ and he had to admit it was a good point. 

But not having him around set up a serious pining situation. After a couple of days Derek had shown up. Not at the front door or at Stiles' window, but at his dad's window, which had resulted in some rather creative swearing. Stiles had woken up to his dad stomping into his room and dumping a grey sweater onto his bed before stomping out again. He smelled Derek before he'd even rubbed the sleep from his eyes and picked up the top hastily, pressing it to his face. His dad had given him a rather judgemental glare ten minutes later when he'd walked past his open doorway to Stiles still rubbing the shirt over his face. That night he left a faded t-shirt outside and in the morning it was gone – he hadn't even had to send a text message or anything. Stiles chose to find this romantic rather than creepy. Though it wasn't the most comfortable he slept in the sweater, the combination of his scent and Derek's the only thing that let him relax enough to properly sleep. 

He didn't know how he'd managed to suddenly become so dependant on Derek. With his dad's shifts the way they were he'd long-since learnt how to be self-reliant so actually being unable to perform a basic function like sleep without someone was disturbing. He wasn't sure he liked the feeling of needing another person that much. If Derek was with him he doubted he'd have noticed it but without him he found himself analysing everything. And he couldn't even go a few minutes without checking his phone for a text. He'd observed the signs before with Scott when he'd first started dating Allison but they had actually been able to see each other (Allison's disapproving dad aside... Comparing notes with her was on his list of things to do when he was finally released). 

He also found that in those first few days he touched Scott a lot more than he used to. Just an arm around his shoulders or a playful slap on the back. A nudge at the kitchen counter. An aborted attempt at a tickle-fight (that had left everyone feeling mortified and awkward). His reading told him that he was craving pack interaction. He had shoved this under Scott's nose soon after the tickle incident and Scott had accepted it with a shrug. They took to greeting and leaving each other with bro-hugs and Stiles worked on controlling himself otherwise. Any additional touches with his dad had been met with an indifference that made Stiles ache. 

When Stiles had settled in for his next covert Skyping adventure with Derek after receiving the sweater he had made a point of wearing it. Derek's eyes had nearly shot out of his head, which Stiles took to be a positive response.

“Is that my sweater?”

“Yes,” Stiles said, stretching out the sleeve. Derek looked at him for so long Stiles started to feel self-conscious. Like maybe he wasn't supposed to wear it? 

“Looks good,” Derek said finally, throat sounding dry. The corners of Stiles mouth twitched. 

“Yeah well, it's getting a lot of use. Miss you,” 

Sometimes the words feel like too much. When they're not touching, not in the same room, when he's just relying on his normal human senses he feels awkward. He doesn't know why because they've spoken, albeit sometimes briefly, almost every day for the last six years. But then he does know why. Because sounding them off into an empty room feels lonely. Because no matter how much they both know this is a long-term thing it's still new. 

“Miss you too,” Derek said softly. 

“Yeah, uh, definitely getting a lot of use out of this sweater,” Stiles said, running a hand over his hair and wondering why he was allowed to use words sometimes. Derek froze. His nostrils flared like he was trying to smell through the computer screen.

“You jerk off to my sweater,” he deadpanned. 

“I thought that was why you gave it to me,” 

“I...” Derek stood up and took a break from the screen. His voice was still picked up by the mic when he asked, “Does your _dad_ think thats why I gave it to you?”

“Uh...” 

“Oh God..” 

“Hey Derek, since we're on the subject, I know we can't like see each other, but I was thinking that if you were up for it we could...y'know _see_ each other,” Derek fell back into view still looking vaguely horrified, “Oh y'know, have phonesexorwhatever,” Stiles mumbled. 

“I... don't even know how to respond to that,” Derek said, trying to look cool but blushing. Turns out Derek Hale can be kinda shy and Stiles finds that adorable. It certainly put them on a more equal footing anyway, “I kinda want our first time to be with us both in the same room,” he muttered, eyes inspecting his keyboard.

“You are fucking adorable,” Stiles can't stop himself from saying, joining in with the blushing. The idea that Derek has thought about their first time, that he seems to want it to be special, melts through Stiles. Derek looks a little disgruntled at the compliment but Stiles knows he secretly likes it. 

After an excruciating week his dad went back to work. Despite his protests of being seventeen and not needing a babysitter he found that either Scott or Scott's mom were constantly at his side. Scott's mom kept throwing him uneasy glances like she still couldn't believe he was well and she thought he was going to fall over at any second. Scott was a lot more fun. With Scott he devised several tests of his new skills and a chart to map his accuracy. He got tired of finding socks and bits of food around the house with his nose. It was all too easy, he could smell things in other peoples houses, in cars driving past, finding things in his house no matter how well Scott thought he was hiding them, was simple and didn't make enough data for his research. They moved on to trying to detect emotions. It quickly got weird when Stiles asked Scott to think of Allison. Then they tried strength and agility and Stiles couldn't get enough of it. Like that first day in the woods his body seemed to feed off the energy he expended and he and Scott tried to devise harder and harder tests. He was so making first line this year. 

He also discovered his super-healing ability when his foot caught on a tree branch mid-majestic leap in the garden and he tumbled to the ground, feeling the arm he tried to catch himself with cracking beneath him and yelping in pain. He rolled onto his back, clutching his arm to his chest and drawing in some laboured breaths.

“Dude, are you ok?” Scott's worried voice registered. He looked up into his friend's face. He was about to say he'd fucked up his dad's careful plan when he felt – actually felt – the bones knitting back together. He looked up at Scott open-mouthed and unable to speak for a moment. 

“That was awesome,” were the first words out of his mouth. His phone vibrated at his side and he stood up and answered it, stupid grin still on his face from his new discovery.

“Are you ok?” 

“Derek, hey,” Stiles answered this rather abrupt question. Scott rolled his eyes and stepped away. He knew that Stiles wasn't following his dad's request and he wouldn't tell but he didn't exactly approve either, “Yeah I'm fine how--”

“What the hell were you doing?” Derek sounded annoyed. No, pissed off. 

“I broke my arm Derek,” he said with excitement, “And it healed.” A frustrated sigh echoed down the phone, Stiles could only imagine the scowl, “How did you know?”

“How did you break your arm?”

“Me and Scott were testing out if I could do a backflip while still holding my lacrosse stick. Minor readjustment due to the placing of the tree and I think I could get it next time,” 

“Put Scott on the phone,” Derek ordered.

“What? Why?” Stiles asked, suspicious.

“Put Scott on the phone,” Derek repeated.

“No,” Stiles caught Scott's eye, who might have heard his name, and turned away from his friend to continue in a lower voice, “I have the feeling you're going to be pissed at him or something. Get pissed at me, _I'm_ the one who did it. Neither Scott nor you are my keepers,”

“Maybe we should be. Don't do that again,”

“Uh, you realise not telling me to do something is pretty much guaranteeing that I want to do it,” 

“How old are you?” Derek snapped.

“Do you really want to blow on that house of cards?”

“ _Stiles_ , don't do it again,”

“As far as I can remember I'm still my own person who can make my own choices,” 

“Are you really arguing for your right to break your own bones?”

“Yes!” he was getting irritated, “And hey look... I also have super-healing powers that mean I'm having this sweet argument with you rather than going to the emergency room right now,”

“Just because you heal doesn't mean you can be reckless,” 

“I wasn't being reckless,” he was being bored and lonely. 

“I heard you,” Derek's voice softened with worry, “Heard you were hurt, I thought--- Don't do that again,” 

Stiles' heartbeat quickened at the slight tremor in Derek's voice. His anger dissipated.

“You.. heard me... from all the way across town?” 

Derek sighed, “This isn't for your spreadsheet, I was worried.” 

Stiles made a mental note for his spreadsheet before saying sheepishly, “Sorry, I didn't do it on purpose,” 

“Just be more careful,” Derek's voice was calmer now that he felt Stiles was listening. Stiles glanced across at Scott who was circling back towards him boredly. 

“Ok,” 

It was as much of a promise as Derek was going to get and he seemed to sense that. 

“Ok, speak to you later,” 

“Derek,” Stiles said before Derek could hang up, voice quiet, “Not much longer,” 

“I know,” was Derek's soft response, “And Stiles... I'll train you properly when I'm allowed to,” 

“My Alpha,” Stiles smiled. He hadn't meant 'my' to sound so possessive but it kinda came out that way, all hot and intense. They'd been apart for too long. Derek huffed down the phone and Stiles had a feeling that he was lost for words. His smile grew, “Talk to you later,” he said before hanging up. Scott came over,

“Am I in trouble with Derek?” he asked, unconcerned. Stiles had a feeling there were unsaid things just barely under the surface waiting to come up at the slightest negative thing about Derek. He smiled and shook his head,

“Nope, he's happy as ever, ready for round two?”

“You're not actually going to try again?” Scott asked, eyebrows raised. Stiles considered the spot where he'd fallen for a moment. 

“Nah, even if it healed, it hurt,” he admitted, “I was just winding Derek up... but then again if we try it from a slightly different angle--”

“So you and Derek,” Stiles' head snapped up, “It's definitely a thing then? I mean, not just a Werewolf pack thing..?”

“I..” it was difficult for Stiles to describe to Scott because he knew that the ideas he had when he thought about him and Derek were ridiculous for something so new – at least for Scott to grasp and he'd fallen in love with Allison as soon as he saw her. If he'd proposed marriage to Allison as soon as he'd seen her that would be a closer description to how it felt. Stiles had assumed that Derek felt the same way so they'd not really discussed what to call what they had yet but maybe that conversation needed to happen soon. Along with some other things. “Yes, we're a thing,” he confirmed finally.

“That's good?”

“That's very good Scott, that's awesome,” 

Scott seemed to consider for a moment. Stiles knew that he never really liked Derek, had always taken his teasing of Stiles as insults rather than easy repartee and had been quick to defend when no defence was necessary. Finally he nodded and smiled at Stiles, accepting it, and Stiles felt a little of the loneliness he'd been feeling for the past weeks begin to evaporate. He hadn't realised how much he'd been stopping himself from talking about Derek with Scott and his dad. He missed him and it felt like he wasn't even allowed to mention him which only made him miss him more. Even without everything that had gone on he and his dad and Scott had seen Derek almost every day for the last six years. Things felt uneven without him there. 

“So I'm thinking I don't fail like an idiot this time,” he cast his eyes up to the tree. 

“First time for everything,” Scott half-grinned. 

His dad was less agitated by his and Scott's antics. When he'd leapt down the stairs in one go his dad had simply walked past muttering, “Jeez, just walk down like a normal person,” Less agitated but no less unimpressed. 

His dad was back to drinking a lot. He might have started when Stiles was sick, he didn't know, but he saw it now. Saw how his dad stiffened when he entered a room. Sometimes not looking at him at all and other times staring. He knew his dad was glad that he was well but there was something off about him, an uncomfortable sadness that lingered. Just because he could sense emotions now didn't mean he could tell what the cause of them was. Other than suspecting it was him.

It finally blew up when half-way into their second week Stiles realised their plan needed to take a little detour. With all his testing and enjoyment of his new skills Stiles found himself growing tenser and it suddenly struck him why. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Being a Werewolf had not only cured his cancer, it'd made him super-strong, given him amazing healing abilities and sharpened his senses. Although he sometimes had the urge to refer to his wolf as a separate being he never felt possessed or like a different person. He'd been prepared to barter away parts of himself just to stay living but so far he found nothing missing. It made him uneasy. If it was so good being a Werewolf then why the stigma? Why the secrecy? Why shouldn't everyone be a Werewolf? He was waiting for the down side. And then Derek reminded him of a potential one. 

“The full moon?” his dad asked, incredulous enough to put down the glass of whiskey he'd been nursing.

“Yes. Apparently not just a myth. It really makes Werewolves change. And as I'm now in that category... Derek says it can be dangerous, that I shouldn't be around people,”

“I bet he does. Dangerous for you?” 

“No. I don't think so. I just won't be able to control myself,” 

“But Derek will,” 

“He'd been doing this a lot longer than I have,” 

“Yes he has been very good at hiding,”

“Ok dad,” Stiles got up, determined to not get into an argument, “Just thought I'd let you know that I'm going to be spending the night at Derek's,”

“The hell you are. Sit. Down,” the Sheriff jabbed a finger in the direction of the couch. Stiles sat despite himself. His dad's focus seemed to drift for a moment and he took another sip of whiskey. That broke something in Stiles.

“What the hell has your problem been this last week?” he snapped, “I thought you'd be happy I'm alive! That I'm not gone! But you've just sat around drinking and walking out of every room I enter,” 

“Stiles--

“Is it the Werewolf thing? I was worried about it too but incase you can't tell... I'm still me. I thought you'd be glad I'm still here and not dead but I guess not--”

“ _Stiles_ ,” his dad said, looking appalled, “Of _course_ I'm glad. You being well, being able to live, is the best thing that has happened to me since the day you were born. But I want you to _live_ , I want you to use this chance and do something with your life. You need to finish High School. Go to college. Since you've been back it seems like you've not given your life much thought,”

Stiles looked down. He couldn't disagree with him. These weeks were a gift and he should have been using the time to think and work out what he wanted to do with his life. He'd kinda forgotten that college was just a year away and he could actually plan his future out now. Frustration at not being allowed out of the house, of not being able to test out his new senses, of not being with Derek had become his full-time obsession, not leaving much room for anything else. His dad's plan to remove distractions had backfired. 

“I want you to relax. And I want you to celebrate. And whatever you choose to do with your life I will support you," his dad relented before admitting, "I haven't handled this week very well. I'm not perfect. I wanted you to have everything that you wanted before you got sick. But I think you've changed more than you realise. I've had a hard time dealing with that,” 

“Dad this is all new to me. I don't know what I want. Or if I want the same things anymore. It's only been a week. And I can't think locked in this house. I know why,” he hastened to add as his dad looked ready to protest, “it's a good plan, but I can't really decide what I want to do in the world if I'm not allowed out into it,” he swallowed, “And I also can't help but think that a lot of the reason I'm still here is because of Derek,” 

His father's face darkened in confirmation. But when he spoke his voice was soft, “I knew you had a crush on him Stiles, I just never thought he'd take advantage of it.”

“He.. there's been no... he hasn't...” Stiles spluttered, “No advantage has been taken,” 

“He's tied you two together for life. As far as I can see and from what I've read,” Stiles mind boggled a little, his dad had been reading about Werewolves? “And don't get me wrong, I'm happy he did it, but I don't want you doing something you might not have done otherwise. And I don't know if I like the idea of you two deciding something like this when you're both so young,” 

“Dad, we don't...” Stiles struggled over the awkwardness, “You said I had a crush on Derek, I thought it was more. I'm not just saying that now. I felt this way back then, like everything it's just a little more intense now--”

“Stiles, please,” 

“Hey you brought it up. And I don't know what you think has been decided but I haven't been in on it,”

His dad's mouth drew thin line there was something he wanted to say but finally he just nodded. After a moment of silence he admitted, “I know he'll look after you tonight. That's the reason I'm letting you go,” 

“Why does everyone seem to think I need looking after?” 

“Maybe we just like to do it,” his dad said, voice strained and low with emotion. Stiles couldn't keep up his irritation under these conditions. He looked away, bashful. After so much close supervision for the last few months Stiles expected his dad to drive him over to Derek's in his police car so he just stared at the keys to his Jeep when his dad got up and put them in his hand.

“You're not staying out for more than one night so make sure you're back for dinner tomorrow,” he said. Then he pulled Stiles into a hug and advised, “Be careful,” in Stiles ear. Stiles fought the blush that threatened to overtake his face and wondered if he could learn some kind of Werewolf embarrassment control.


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles sent off a text that he was on his way over and started his Jeep. It complained into life in a comfortingly familiar way, “I know baby,” he murmured, patting the dash, “I missed you too,”

Though he'd always known vaguely where Derek lived he'd never been there so when he pulled up to the apartment block it was all new to him. It looked totally normal. He felt like he needed to tell Derek to start charging for saving lives. Except Werewolves didn't do that. _Yet_. 

He parked and half-jogged up to the door. He tried the buzzer but it didn't work. He twisted the door handle and it opened. That was fairly disconcerting. He would have been worried for Derek's safety if he'd thought he was just a cop. And if his senses weren't picking up Derek's scent everywhere and sending eager tremors through his limbs. He walked up three flights of stairs (the elevator was out of course) and he felt the anticipation build as Derek's scent grew stronger. The feeling he'd been having all day, like he'd drunk too much Red Bull, now paled into comparison. 

Before he'd even reached Derek's door it was being pulled open. He had a split second to take in Derek's rumpled hair and paint-stained t-shirt before he was being dragged inside, Derek's fingers curled in his hoodie. Derek's apartment was messy. Clothes all over the floor, claw marks on the walls messy. Stiles really wanted to make a smartass comment but as soon as the door was shut Derek crowded him up against it and buried his face into Stiles' neck and the overwhelming smell and feel of Derek around him short-circuited his brain for a moment. 

Derek's warm hands cupped his neck for a second, strong fingers massaging into his flesh, before he buried his nose between his palms and inhaled. Stiles couldn't hold in the little whimper that left his throat. Derek sucked his adam's apple into his mouth and Stiles sagged back against the door, only the quick movement of Derek's hands wrapping around his middle keeping him from sliding to the floor. 

“Derek...” he breathed. Derek nosed his way along Stiles' jaw before dragging him mouth up to press a hungry kiss to Stiles' lips. That same calm spread through him as before. He hadn't realised how much tension his body was holding until it was gone, hadn't realised how much he was trembling until it stopped, until all he could feel were Derek's lips and Derek's hands pressing in to his lower back. 

When they finally pulled apart Stiles took a good look at Derek's dazed expression and parted panting lips, “So this is what the full moon does to you,”

“I can control myself on the full moon,” his tongue darted out to taste Stiles' lower lip, “This is what you do to me,”

Stiles felt his blood pounding a little faster around his body. His dick twitched. Derek curled a finger around one of his belt loops.

“You can tell me to stop if you want,”

So this was a thing that was happening. Stiles groaned and leant his head back on the door so quickly it actually rattled the wood. 

“Stiles..” 

“Keep going,” Stiles said. A tiny insecure part of him waited for Derek to pull away. 

“Look at me,” 

Stiles brought his eyes up to look into Derek's face. His expression was concerned,

“Any time Stiles, tell me to stop,” he slipped a hand underneath Stiles hoodie, finding the warmth of his skin underneath, “I want this to be good,” 

“Derek,” Stiles groaned, “I have literally been thinking about you all week, a week in the life of a teenage boy, think about that. I want this,” 

“Ok,” 

“I need this,”

Derek smiled, “Ok,” before sliding his hand down into Stiles' jeans, into his underwear, and cupping his ass. Stiles jerked forward. Derek buried his face in Stiles' neck and started to suck another bruise just above his collar bone. Stiles whimpered. The bruise he'd left before disappeared after a day but that was still much longer than it took his broken arm to heal. Questions formed and fractured in his mind almost instantly. _Later_. Derek's second hand joined his first and together they massaged at the flesh of his ass while his mouth went to work. He was completely hard now and the added tightness of having Derek inside his jeans was making the material painfully constrictive over his dick. As if sensing this Derek slid his hands out and moved them around to start work on Stiles' fly. 

As his jeans dropped to the floor so did Derek, sinking to his knees quickly. Stiles gaped down at him. Derek mouthed at his erection through the material of his boxers, letting out a little growl when he tasted the drop of pre-come that had soaked through. Stiles was pretty sure his mind and body had disconnected at this point so all he could manage was to stupidly say Derek's name. Derek smirked up at him, eyes predatory, before tugging down his boxers. Stiles didn't have any time to feel self-conscious as Derek took the head of his dick into his mouth and lapped at his leaking slit. 

Everything crashed back together.

“Jesus Christ Derek,” Stiles moaned, hands flailing against the door, wanting to touch Derek but not really sure of blow-job etiquette. All he knew was that this wasn't going to last long, “Fuck, this is going to be embarrassing,” he muttered. Derek's hands found their way to the back of his thighs, massaging the flesh there and – Stiles suspected – helping him to stay standing as his knees began to buckle. He pulled his mouth off Stiles.

“Nothing embarrassing,” he insisted, finding Stiles eyes with his own, “I could come from just looking at you like this Stiles, you have no idea, your smell, your voice, you taste so good,” he licked a stripe from the base of Stiles' dick to the head and collected another bead of pre-come as his reward, “I want to make you come, want to feel it in my mouth, taste it on my tongue,” and with that he swallowed Stiles' dick down until his nose was brushing wiry hair. Stiles' hands went instinctively to Derek's head, fingers sliding though his hair. Derek hummed his encouragement, pulling back until Stiles was half-out of his mouth, lips stretched in tight suction, before dragging him back in again. When his dick hit the back of Derek's throat Stiles felt everything tighten, felt the pleasure start to pool in his abdomen and had only a moment to slap his hand against Derek's shoulder in warning before he was coming, hips jerking forward. Derek swallowed every drop down, eyes flashing a hungry red and murmur of satisfaction rumbling through his chest. His fingers kept rubbing at the back of Stiles' thighs comfortingly and he kept Stiles' dick in his mouth until the last spurt had finished. He pulled off but kept nosing and licking around Stiles' oversensitive dick and balls, trying to catch anything that he'd missed. 

“Derek,” Stiles gasped, trying weakly to pull him away, the sensation too much. Derek inched back and let him slide to the floor. Stiles gasped for air, little aftershocks of pleasuring kept tremoring through his body. He'd just had a blow-job. Derek had just given him a blow-job. An awesome blow-job. A glow of warmth settled through him that was only slightly connected to his orgasm. He reached out and cupped Derek's face, pulling him forward between his legs and settling a gentle kiss on his lips. Derek's tongue slid into his mouth and he tasted himself there. Blindly he reached out for Derek's chest and realised that he was still fully clothed. He became aware that he might make a ridiculous sight, naked from the waist down in a baggy red hoodie. Derek pushed further into the kiss but Stiles' ears picked up on the unzipping of his jeans and the slow slide of... oh fuck he had to see. He yanked his head away and looked down at Derek stroking himself. His dick was dark with blood, thick and uncut. Stiles moaned with want even though he wasn't sure what he wanted. Derek's hand stilled and he gripped himself tightly at the base.

“Do you want me to..?” Stiles offered, already reaching out. Derek shook his head, instead starting to tug Stiles' hoodie up with his free hand. Stiles could help with that and with minimal fumbling he pulled his hoodie off and flung it to the floor. He had no time to feel self-conscious as Derek made a happy little noise and his mouth descended on Stiles' chest, licking his way to Stiles' left nipple and sucking it into his mouth. He played with the hardening flesh between his teeth in a way that shot pleasure and pain right down to Stiles' half-hard dick. 

Oh yeah, Werewolves had great refractory time. That was also on his spreadsheet. 

Derek crowded in close, bending Stiles' knees up and fitting beneath them until their dicks aligned. He brought his hand up to his mouth and licked the palm slowly before wrapping it around them both and stroking once, slow and tight. Stiles let out a stuttering cry at just the feel of it. Derek licked into his mouth, trying to swallow the sound, but with each stroke Stiles' mouth broke free to utter a cry. 

“Shh,” Derek soothed, even as his hand pumped faster, giving up on silencing him and instead nuzzling into his neck. Stiles was fully hard now. Derek was pinning him down and he couldn't move to meet the tugging of his hand like he wanted so he was forced to just sit there, feeling nothing but his dick against Derek's and the hand pulling on them both, his senses zeroing in on just those sensations. He actually felt Derek's dick stiffen against his own before he was coming hot and messy on Stiles' stomach, groaning into his neck. His hand stutteringly continued to move but just the sensation of Derek coming was enough to speed Stiles along and moments later he was following. Derek's hand freed them instantly and he started rubbing their combined come into Stiles' skin, across his stomach and up his chest. 

“You smell good now. Like us,” he explained. The old Stiles might have found it mildly gross, the new Stiles felt a rumble of satisfaction in his chest. He did smell good. He placed a hand in the mess before reaching up and dragging two fingers along Derek's neck.

“Now so do you,” 

Derek looked down at him hungrily. Fuck, wasn't there a full moon or something they were supposed to be dealing with? Derek turned his head and sucked Stiles' fingers into his mouth, cleaning them with greedy efficiency.

“Derek, full moon,” Stiles' stupid mouth said. Derek's tongue licked between his fingers for a moment longer before he pulled back. It was late afternoon now, Stiles wasn't sure how much time they had before things started happening. His legs were starting to cramp. Derek looked down at his chest one final time to make sure he was satisfied before he slowly slid out from under Stiles legs, massaging at his thighs as he did so to stimulate some blood flow. He zipped his jeans back up before standing and offering Stiles his hand. Stiles took it and rose gingerly to his feet, his body existing in conflicting areas of complete relaxation and stiff numbness. He glanced at his clothes on the floor and then back at the door he'd been pressed against. 

“Uh, we probably shouldn't have done that against the door, I'm pretty sure half your neighbours just heard me come,” 

Derek's eyes flashed for a moment, possessive, before his mouth twitched with a smirk.

“Couldn't wait,” 

Then he was kissing him again, something hard and claiming slowly turning into something slow and tender, eventually he pulled apart and breathed, “Sorry,” against Stiles' lips.

“For what?” Stiles asked, dazed.

“I wanted it to be a bit more special than that. Next time I'll take my time,” 

A little thrill went through Stiles at 'next time'. He still couldn't quite believe he got to have this, “Are we sure I didn't die and like go to heaven or something?”

Derek chuckled and pulled away from him, turning and walking towards another room, “You want something to eat? Going to be a long night,” 

“How come I got to come twice but I still didn't get to see you naked? Seems unfair to me,” Stiles called after him, reaching down for his clothes. 

“They'll be plenty of time for that tonight,” 

“Oh really?” Stiles asked, intrigued.

~

Derek was a dick and being a Werewolf sucked. Those were the conclusions Stiles came to as he collapsed onto the forest floor, spine bowed as pain tore through him. They might have been the last coherent thoughts that went through his mind before everything broke off into unconnected impulses and instincts. His clawed hands dug into the undergrowth and he lifted his head to scent the air. His Alpha was near and that calmed him but there were so many other scents around to explore and he was torn between joining his pack and looking around. A warm, heavy weight nudged into his side, causing him to stumble. He turned and tried to nip at the muzzle of the wolf next to him but with a snarl he was shoved into the dirt and found teeth on his neck, holding him down firmly without breaking the skin. _Derek?_ The wolf released him and stepped back with a snort. Ears pinned back Stiles righted himself and crept forward to administer a couple of licks to Derek's muzzle. This seemed to appease the Alpha who nosed against Stiles' face for a moment before turning his head to listen to a noise in the distance. Stiles listened too but could only hear a shuffling sound, he couldn't identify what it was. It didn't seem to concern Derek so he decided it was nothing to worry about. Spending longer in this wolf-form he found his mind slowly creeping back together. The scents around him were all intoxicating and all interesting and he couldn't decide where he wanted to go first. Derek nudged his side again but Stiles took one look at him before darting off through the trees with a playful bark.

Even though it was pitch black and the full moon was almost fully obscured by clouds he could pick up everything with his wolf eyes like it was broad daylight. He darted around trees, leapt a narrow brook and had a made it half-way up a steep hill before Derek caught up with him and shoved him onto his back. He laughed up at him, the best he could in wolf form, and licked a long sloppy line up his muzzle. He didn't know why being a Werewolf was such a frightening concept to people. This felt amazing. He wriggled out from under Derek with ease and pressed his nose into the ground. He wanted his wolf nature to tell him what he was smelling but all he knew was good, bad, interesting. He huffed with frustration. He turned his nose on Derek, who was watching him cautiously, and there he was on safer ground. He smelled like pack, like home. With a soft whine in his throat he crept forward again. Derek turned and started to walk off through the woods at a gentle pace. Once he was sure Stiles was following he moved faster until they were running together. 

On their drive over to the woods in Derek's car Derek had tried to fill him in with as much information as possible. Werewolves could shift on will into the form that he'd shown Stiles before but only on a full moon could they complete the transformation to wolf. He'd told him that it would hurt, that he might not know his own mind, that he might get violent. He had assured him over and over again as the tremors started to take Stiles' body that he'd be with him the whole time, that he'd look after him, that it'd be over soon. This was nothing like that. This felt right. 

Derek slowed suddenly and Stiles shot past him, yelping to a stop when his paws hit the water at the river's edge. Derek padded past him, tongue hanging out with amusement and lowered his head to lap at the water. A howl broke through the silence. 

Stiles might not have been able to identify many of the things he was feeling or hearing that night but that howl froze his every muscle. It was another wolf. Derek growled low at his side, eyes turning red instantly. He turned in the direction of the howl, putting his body in front of Stiles'. Derek hadn't mentioned what to do if they found another wolf, he guessed it was quite rare. From his wolf research he knew they should be howling back, either in threat or in welcome, but Derek stayed silent and so he did too. Another howl echoed through the trees, closer this time. Derek shoved him backwards up the ridge, eyes watching the tree line. Stiles knew that Derek could shift back and maybe benefit from some extra agility but he wouldn't leave Stiles alone and Stiles was no more able to control the change that he could the weather. He smelled fear and got a shock when he realised it was coming off him. Derek chivvied him along, seeming unwilling to break into a run. 

They were both looking back when the wolf jumped out in front of them. Big and black with a triumphant look on it's face it crashed through a bush and landed just a few feet in front of them. In an instant Derek shoved himself in front of Stiles and let loose a growl. Stiles joined it with his own, the instinct to protect his Alpha strong. The wolf's eyes flickered between the two of them, unconcerned. Derek's eyes glowed red.

And so did the other wolf's. 

Derek leapt forward but the wolf seemed to expect it and dodged out of his way easily, darting past him to rake at Stiles with it's claws. Stiles stumbled backwards and just avoided having blood drawn. The wolf had lost the element of surprise now though and Derek leapt on it with a roar, sinking his teeth into it's it's shoulder. The wolf twisted and and flung Derek off it's back with a snarl. A simple animal might have defended itself against the attacking animal but this wolf had the mind of a human and so it continued on towards Stiles. It was bigger, stronger, faster, so Stiles decided reckless was his only option and he met the wolf half-way, claws out. It batted him aside easily and a sharp pain and warm wetness dripping down his muzzle told him that it had connected this time. The scent of blood drove Derek wild and he grabbed the wolf, arms shifting back to human for extra dexterity, wrapping them around the wolf's middle and bringing it backwards and to the ground. It snapped up into his face and when he moved to avoid it's teeth it squirmed free and bounded backwards. It paused, a pleased glint in it's eyes as Derek stilled, the urge to pursue not as strong as the one to protect. Then it was gone. Derek watched the trees carefully for a moment before turning to Stiles with a whine. He lapped at the blood on Stiles' face vigorously but the cut stayed open and oozing and eventually he seemed to decide that location was more important. Derek stuck to his side, always touching, as they made their slow way back to the car. He hadn't realised how far they'd run until dawn started breaking before they got there. 

At the first few rays of sunshine Stiles collapsed. The pain started again and he couldn't hold back the howl that morphed into a scream. Bones broke and re-formed, muscles shifted, hair slid back into his skin. He didn't even register Derek at his side until strong arms lifted him into a sitting position. The world swam and he felt sick.

“I don't think I have an up to date rabies jab,” was the first thing he said. Derek huffed beside him, still too concerned to find anything amusing. He was in his half-shifted state, fangs and claws and red eyes. Gently he traced the cut on Stiles' face that seemed to run from the bottom of his left eye, across his nose and down to his jawline, “Are my looks gone forever? Will my dream to be Mr Beacon Hills be forever unfulfilled?” the sky swam above him unpleasantly. 

“It'll heal,” he said, uncertainty lingering. 

“Scars are sexy though right? Oh my God my dad is going to kill you,” he just managed to turn away from Derek before he was sick on the ground, whole body convulsing. Derek rubbed at his back, whining with concern, “I'm ok,” was the last thing Stiles breathed before he passed out.


	8. Chapter 8

He came to in Derek's bed, or so he assumed from the scent, with too many blankets piled on top of him. He felt furnace hot. He squirmed uncomfortably and in an instant Derek was standing in the doorway, shirtless and in grey sweats. Derek's bedroom was impressively large for such a small apartment. A bookcase leaned against one wall with a pile of books on the top shelf climbing precariously up the wall. The other end of the room had a wardrobe. That was all Stiles could make out from his position on the bed and he knew he must have been exhausted because Derek's bedroom and what it might look like had long been a source of his fantasies. 

Derek sat down on the bed next to him and handed him a glass of water. He drank the whole thing greedily before gasping out, “What happened?”

Derek put the glass down on the floor, “The shift takes it out of you, especially the first one, you were exhausted,”

“So I what.. fainted? That's pretty embarrassing,”

Derek reached up and ran a hand over his hair, “I've never heard of.. My first time I was in agony apparently, Mrs Morrell locked me the sound-proofed basement for the whole night,”

“Weren't you just a baby?” Stiles asked, horrified. Derek shrugged,

“She was human. She didn't know. I didn't have a truly calm shift until I was about ten. I worked out that I had to find an anchor. It's supposed to be even worse for made Werewolves. But you seemed like you were having--”

“Fun? I was. It was amazing. Until it wasn't,” 

Derek growled at the allusion to the other wolf. He slid into the bed next to Stiles, hands reaching out to touch skin. Stiles realised with a blush that he was naked. He probably had been since he'd turned back. Derek's fingers ghosted over his chest before he pulled him into his arms, not settling until he was lying on his back with Stiles draped half on-top of him back to chest, one arm curled up under his ribs and the other around his abdomen, “Ohkay,” Stiles breathed, enjoying the sensation but still adjusting to their new level of intimacy. He swallowed, “You didn't mention that we might see other wolves” he said gently, trying as hard a possible to not make it sound like an accusation. Guilt still came off Derek in waves.

“I never have. All my life I've been running in those woods on full moon and I've never seen another wolf there until tonight,”

“It was a Werewolf right? An Alpha?”

“Yes,”

“Do you guys... us guys now I suppose... do you do territory disputes? Or pack disputes? Was it something to do with me?”

“I don't know,” Derek admitted. Stiles turned around in his arms until they were chest to chest and smiled up at him.

“I guess that's what you've got me for then. I'm excellent at figuring things out,”

Derek's eyes raked the length of his scar, “I'll work this out by myself,”

“Nu uh,” Stiles fought the urge to touch his face to find out how ugly the scar really was, knowing that would just upset Derek further, and instead picked this battle, “We're pack aren't we? I might have fainted like a damsel but I don't need to be protected by being locked in a tower,” he wasn't sure if Derek's silence was agreement or setting aside the argument for later but he was still pretty tired and aching so he took it as a victory for now and placed a small kiss to the dip in Derek's throat as thanks. Stiles wanted to continue protesting but his eyes were already struggling to stay open. Now he was lying on Derek the heat didn't bother him so much anymore and after wriggling into a more comfortable position he dozed off for a few minutes completely against his will.

When he came back to himself the first question he asked was, “Hey what time is it?”

Derek stirred a little under him and Stiles felt a guilty pang that he must have woken him. 

“Ten o'clock,”

“AM or PM?” he asked suspiciously.

“PM...”

Stiles tried to sit up, “My dad really is going to kill you,” 

“I phoned him, let him know what happened, I said I'd keep you-- I'd let you stay here,” Derek corrected himself.

“And he was ok with that?”

“He's on duty tonight and he wants to keep an eye out for Werewolf incidents seeing as he's the only one who might know what they're dealing with now.”

“And he believed you?”

“I was telling the truth beside,” Derek sounded a little offended, “I am his Deputy, we do work together,”

“The Deputy that's sleeping with his son,”

“Well I didn't go into all the details... I might have said I have a spare room.”

Stiles laid his head down against Derek's chest and snorted a laugh before considering, “He's not actually going to go out into the woods is he?”

“No Stiles, your dad isn't stupid,” 

“No, he isn't,” Stiles said pointedly before biting into the flesh of Derek's chest and enjoying feeling him jerking in surprise. He said, “Sorry,” even though both of them could tell he wasn't sorry at all. Derek draped an arm over his shoulders, holding him close. 

“We'll decide what to tell your dad later, get some sleep,” 

“Maybe I don't want to sleep,” Stiles said through a badly disguised yawn. Derek rubbed his shoulder soothingly and he felt his eyes drifting shut again.

~

When he woke it was still dark. He lifted himself gently off Derek's body, the older man's arm gripping for him instinctively in his sleep. “Back in a minute,” Stiles whispered to his closed eyes before padding out of the bedroom, through the living room and into the bathroom. After he'd relieved himself he frowned down at his nakedness. He looked around and found a pair of Derek's discarded sweatpants that didn't smell too objectionable. It was funny really considering how well groomed Derek was when he visited to find out that he lived the life of a slob. Stiles wondered if it was a den thing or just a Derek thing. He was about to go back to the bedroom when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. The harsh light of the tiny mirror light cast shadows all over his face but not enough to disguise the scar running from one side of his face to the other.

He gasped and leant in, fingers reaching up to gingerly touch the angry red line. It had healed enough that it wasn't bleeding anymore but the edges were swollen and where it looked worse, over his nose, it jutted out in a scabbed ridge. Derek made him jump when he wrapped his arms around him from behind, Werewolf senses completely overwhelmed by his own mind. He leant his chin on Stiles' shoulder.

“It'll heal,”

He sounded more confident than he had before. Stiles turned his head from one side to the other, wondering if there was an angle it would look better from. It didn't. 

“Why hasn't it healed yet?”

“It's a wound from an Alpha. But the fact that it's healed as much as it has...” he lifted his left hand from Stiles middle and reached up to gently trace the scar with his fingertips. It felt numb, like nothing, “...means it wasn't intended to be permanent. It was just a warning,”

“A warning against what?”

“I don't know.” 

“Well I would complain about vague messages but I guess I should be glad I don't have _War and Peace_ carved into my face,” 

Stiles contemplated his scar for a little longer before Derek nudged him out of the bathroom, “Come on, are you hungry?” 

“No,” his eyes narrowed as Derek led him to the kitchen, “I didn't eat any squirrels last night did I?”

“You don't remember?” Derek grinned, letting go of Stiles to fill a glass up from the tap.

“I remember, I think. It all seems a little fuzzy now,” he took the water and drank it down quickly, almost choking as a question struck him half-way through that he suddenly needed to ask, “Are you ok?” his heartbeat ratcheted up a notch with guilt and worry as he realised he'd not even asked yet. 

Derek took the glass from his hand and set it down on the counter before moving in close and cupping his hand to Stiles' face, thumb resting over the scar, “I'm fine,” Stiles twisted his head to shake off the hand and put his own to Derek's chest, tracing fingers along the contours of his muscles, up over his collarbone and throat, coming to rest at the nape of his neck. His inspection satisfied him somewhat but an uneasy feeling still beat in his chest.

“You could have been killed,” 

“So could you,” Derek's face was soft but his eyes flashed red for a second. 

“No but... _you_ could have been killed,” Stiles repeated. 

“Stiles I--”

“I think I love you,” Derek's mouth hung open for a moment so Stiles continued, “I mean I don't think it. I do. I love you,” it was less terrifying to admit than he'd thought, it felt like the natural conclusion, like the full stop at the end of a sentence, knowing that they'd always been leading to it from the start. “I love you,” he repeated with a smile, trying to take the stunned look off Derek's face. 

Then in an instant he was being pinned up against the counter, all delicacy removed, and Derek was kissing him fast and urgent, forcing his tongue past Stiles' lips and swallowing up his surprised moan. He wrapped his arms around Stiles' waist and lifted him but Stiles put his hands on Derek's shoulders and pulled out of the kiss to say, “No carrying,”. He loved that Derek wanted to take care of him but in this moment he didn't want to feel fragile. Derek dropped him lightly to the floor and dove back into the kiss, sucking Stiles' lower lip into his mouth and biting it lightly. His hand slid down into Stiles' pants and gripped his dick and he let out a low growl at how hard it was already, leaking onto his clothes and mingling their scents intoxicatingly. Stiles grabbed, “Fuck you have a great ass,” and Derek flexed in his hands with a grin, starting to stroke Stiles slow and steady, “I'm going to come in your kitchen,” he said dumbly, feeling his orgasm build. 

“You're going to come in every room of this apartment,” Derek murmured in his ear, sliding out of his pants. Stiles could feel the long length of Derek pressed up against his hip but when he reached out to touch him Derek dropped to his knees. From the floor Derek fixed his eyes on Stiles', his mouth open and wide. Stiles looked down at Derek's dick, flushed and hard, and let out a moan. Derek slid down the waistband of Stiles' pants, freeing his dick, and leant in, catching pre-come with the tip of his tongue and tasting it reverently before leaning back again just out of reach.

“Whu?” Stiles questioned, his brain trying for form thoughts.

“No carrying,” Derek reminded him, a glint in his eye. He leant forward until Stiles' dick was resting on his lower lip but moved no further. Stiles felt the hot breath tickling along his sensitive skin and another drop of pre-come leaked out, touching Derek's lip then starting to trail down his chin. Derek tensed but made no move, just looked up at him. 

“Can I?” Stiles asked, uncertain. Derek parted his lips a little further. Stiles slid his hand over Derek's cheek and then cupped it behind his head. He slowly fed his dick into Derek's slack mouth, the warm wetness feeling impossible around him. Once he was half-way in Derek tightened his lips and started to suck, “Fuck,” Stiles' fingers tightened in Derek's hair, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he stayed still for a moment, waiting for Derek to take over, but Derek only sucked on what he was given, eyes still on Stiles. He brought his other hand up to the opposite side of Derek's face and held him still gently while he pushed in further, the head of his dick dragging on the roof of Derek's mouth and then being sucked down his throat, “Holy Jesus-motherfucking-Christ Derek, your mouth,” and he almost came right there from the sight of Derek's lips wrapped around the base of his dick, his mouth full with the rest of it. But it wasn't quite enough. He held Derek's head still and pulled out an inch or so before giving an experimental thrust back in. Derek hummed around him in approval and he almost lost it right then, scrabbling at his hair, his claws popping out and leaving little cuts in Derek's scalp that healed instantly, “Sorry, fuck,” Stiles breathed. He took hold of Derek's head again and this time moved his hips a little more surely, dragging out before fucking back into Derek's mouth with a little more force. Derek moaned. Stiles looked down and saw he had a hand wrapped around his own erection, holding it tight at the base as if trying to keep himself calm. Fuck. He let go and grabbed hold of Derek's head firmly, sliding almost completely out of his mouth before thrusting back in. He didn't give Derek time to adjust before doing it again. Derek kept sucking, kept pulling him back in with each thrust and sloppy filthy noises filled the kitchen, the sounds of Stiles moans and his dick sliding through the saliva in Derek's mouth. He felt himself harden on Derek's tongue, felt his balls tighten as they smacked Derek's chin, and then he was coming with a gasp down Derek's throat. Just like with last time Derek drank him down, pulling every last drop out of him and as he pulled off massaging along his length with his tongue to catch any little last morsel. 

Stiles looked down at Derek, eyes glassy and unfocussed, and smiled, “Every room you say?” 

Derek stood, redness fading from his knees from being on the hard kitchen floor, and from around his face where Stiles had grabbed him. He took in Stiles' expression and smiled, pressing a small kiss to his lips. 

“Eventually. I think we need to get back into bed now,” 

“Well the bedroom is a room,” Stiles reasoned, tugging his pants back up over his hips before turning and walking on unsteady legs back to the bed he could see through the open doorway. Now was more like the time for carrying but he wasn't sure he wanted to set president so he settled for Derek's hand warm on the small of his back and he followed him back to the bed. Stiles collapsed down face-forward onto the sheets, breathing in the scent of Derek for one potent moment before flipping over onto his back. Derek's dick still stood out proud from his body and Stiles realised that he was the worst... boyfriend?... ever. He reached up and murmured, “Come here,” 

Derek pulled the covers out from under Stiles before flinging them on top of him again. When Stiles had burrowed out and reached fresh air again Derek was lying next to him in bed. He opened his mouth to complain but Derek turned him, fitting in behind his body, sliding down the sweatpants again and pressing his dick to the curve of Stiles' ass. 

Stiles felt himself tense without meaning to. Derek pressed his nose to the back of his neck and breathed for a second before he murmured, “We don't have to do that. Not now. Or ever if you don't want,” his lips brushed Stiles' skin gently. The wolf in Stiles demanded that he roll over and submit. But the boy was still scared. Turned on and scared. Derek huffed a little chuckle on the back of his neck, picking up on the conflicting emotions, “And it's not a one time deal, you don't have to decide now,” Stiles twisted in his arms so he could see Derek's face. Their lips connected and for a moment he forgot what he was going to say. 

“Never?” Stiles finally asked when they broke apart.

“Never,” Derek smiled, not a trace of a lie about him. Stiles sighed at his perfection. 

“I'd like to. I want to,” he corrected himself, “but maybe later, with a little more build up,” 

“Ok,” Derek said simply before leaning in to kiss him again. His hips started giving little aborted thrusts against Stiles' ass. Stiles pressed back into him and sighed against his lips, 

“I want you to come on me, make me smell like you,” 

Derek's hand ghosted down Stiles' sides before taking a firm hold of his hip, the other curling up under his body and resting against his abdomen. He rubbed himself against the line of Stiles' ass, slipping just slightly between the cheeks. His mouth rested on Stiles' shoulder, blunt teeth worrying the flesh there and muffling every groan as he brought himself closer. Stiles could feel his Derek's heart pounding like it was his own. He started moving, rubbing back against Derek with every thrust. Derek's fingers tightened bruisingly around his hip as his pace quickened. He came with a roar and bit down on Stiles' shoulder with his sharper, wolf teeth, latching on and not letting go as he shot hot and messy against Stiles' lower back. Stiles felt the pain morph into pleasure and without even noticing that he was hard again he found that he was coming, sinking into the feel of Derek biting into his shoulder and still thrusting against his back, dick sliding in his own come as a rode out the orgasm. His heart fluttered and his lungs gasped for air and when Derek let him go for the longest moment he felt like he was falling until steady hands pushed him over onto his back and held his head still, red eyes staring intently into his. 

“Derek,” was all he could say, blinking up at him. Seemingly satisfied that he wasn't hurt Derek leant down and licked at the blood flowing from his bite and Stiles felt the wound closing up. Right. Intent. 

The bed groaned when Derek got off it and Stiles whimpered but he was back again quickly, a damp cloth in his hand. He made quick work of cleaning them both off, lifting Stiles gently to wipe at his back and ass. The conflicting feeling of wanting to be clean and wanting to be coated in Derek's come, possibly forever, came as a surprise to Stiles and he let out a disappointed noise when Derek folded the cloth over and started to clean himself. Derek chuckled and threw the cloth to the side (note to self, develop cleaning rota) before climbing into bed with Stiles again, “I think we smell plenty like each other for now,” he said, manoeuvring Stiles off the worst of the wet patch. And it was true, the room stank of Stiles and Derek and sex. It was delicious. Stiles curled up against Derek's side, eyes already closing. Derek pressed a kiss to his forehead and said, “Night,”. The word was so simply, achingly intimate that Stiles twitched, trying to open his mouth to say something but finding the words drifting away from him as he succumbed to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles walked into the bathroom singing, “I wanna see your animal siiiide...” Derek raised an eyebrow at him in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. Stiles gave him a toothy grin, tilting his head so that they could both see the new scar on his shoulder from Derek's teeth. The one on his face hadn't faded in any significant way but he trusted Derek's judgement. Derek's eyes lingered on the bite mark, making Stiles' grin widen before he shimmied on over to the shower. He hesitated a moment before dropping his sweatpants. Derek might have seen it all already but he still felt a little self-conscious in the harsh light of day. The smell of Derek in the room intensified and when he looked the Alpha was pretty sloppy about snapping his eyes back to the mirror in time. Stiles grinned, feeling suddenly bold, “You can join me in the shower if you like...”

Derek's shower was pretty tiny but they could probably both fit in. At a squeeze. “Have to go to work,” Derek admitted like it was worst piece of news he'd ever had to give. Stiles shrugged and stepped under the water. 

“Let it all out,” Stiles started singing again, “Oh there you go, undress to impress..” he turned to see if Derek was still there but through the mist the bathroom looked empty. “Lets put the 'd' in dirt now baby... baaaaby--” a hand clamped over his mouth. He tried to ask if Derek had changed his mind but the scent of fear permeated over the steam and shower gel and he stilled immediately. Derek reached around and turned off the shower slowly. He took his hand away from Stiles' mouth and slid it down to his chest, indicating for him to stay where he was, before he walked cautiously out of the room. Stiles stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. A knock sounded at the door. Even from another room he could feel Derek's agitation. He wanted to go to him but he'd been told to stay put. Plus he didn't make such an intimidating figure naked and dripping wet. Still, he focussed and let his claws out, ready to come when needed to protect his Alpha and hoping that some delivery guy wasn't about to get a shock. 

Derek opened the door and Stiles' anxiety ratcheted up to record levels. He recognised the smell of he person at the door. It was the wolf from the other night. Without thinking he walked out of the bathroom and was there just in time for the woman at the door to say, “Hello brother,”. She was beautiful as anyone related to Derek should be, with long dark hair and eyes just as green as his. Her lips were painted bright red and they spread into a predatory smile when she spotted him. 

“Laura,” Derek said, voice tight. He must have sensed Stiles had appeared but he didn't turn around to acknowledge him. Stiles' head was spinning. Derek had a sister. Derek had family. And apparently Derek wasn't surprised by this. He had known who the wolf was that night. Prickles of irritation flared up under Stiles' skin and he straightened his stance, crossing his arms over his chest and barely avoiding scratching himself with his own claws. This clearly wasn't the time for questions though. Laura stepped past Derek and into the apartment, casting an appraising eye around (lingering over Stiles again) before looking back at her brother. 

“Really Derek? You couldn't have cleaned up first?” 

“I didn't know you were coming,” Derek said tightly. 

“Not for me silly,” she turned and walked a couple of steps towards Stiles, “For your boyfriend here. Sorry about the face cutie,” she reached out to touch his scar and Derek was there in an instant, grabbing her arm and bending it behind her back painfully. Her eyes flashed red but as soon as she'd stepped away from Stiles she shook him off with a laugh, “Calm down Derek, you know it'll heal, as if I'd ruin something as beautiful as _that_ permanently,” her eyes raked Stiles' body again and suddenly he remembered that he was naked save for a towel and he crossed his arms higher up his chest to try and hide his pebbling nipples. He felt a blush creep onto his cheeks making Laura's smile turn to one of delight, “Oh he is sweet, so fresh and young, I guess we both have the same type brother,” Derek stepped into Laura's line of sight.

“What do you want?” 

“Just visiting, you left in such a rush last time, without even saying goodbye, not really the reaction I was expecting from someone who just found out they had a family,” she glanced around Derek's shoulder, “Though now I think I can see why,” 

Stiles sighed, the tension level in the room were dropping and he was tired of being stared at, “Yes we've all enjoyed my three chest hairs enough so... I'm going to go and get dressed,” he announced, before turning and walking into Derek's bedroom, pushing the door to without actually shutting it. He listened while he rummaged through Derek's clothes to find something that might vaguely fit him. 

“What are you doing here Laura?”

“I told you. I came to see you,”

“Why did you attack us the other night?”

“I'm sorry," she said, not sounding it, "I didn't _mean_ to, I just wanted to surprise you but then he smelled so scared and you were so angry... It was the full moon Derek, I can't control it as well as you can,”

“ _I_ was raised by humans and I can control it,” he snapped.

“And we both know who I was raised by,” Laura said darkly. 

“Sorry,” Derek said, and he sounded it. It was such a far cry from their previous exchanges that Stiles had stumbled over a pair of Derek's shoes when he'd jerked his head around.

“Derek,” Laura's voice was low now, urgent, “What is this? What do you think you're doing?” 

Stiles wondered what she was talking about but they must have realised that he was listening because silence stretched out for several minutes while he pulled on one of Derek's t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants that smelled slightly less like come. Laundry was definitely going to become a thing. Figuring he'd been rumbled he stepped out of the bedroom and took in the sight of Laura sitting in Derek's one and only armchair, slumped back with her legs wide, one boot perched on Derek's most surprising item of furniture, the coffee table, while Derek sat on the end of the couch closest to her. They both looked at him when he walked in and tension returned to the room. 

He slid down onto the couch next to Derek, pressing up against his side in an attempt to calm him while simultaneously trying to look like he wasn't doing so. He felt Derek relax ever so slightly next to him but knew it hadn't gone unnoticed by Laura who was now watching him thoughtfully. When their eyes met she leant forward and held out her hand, “I'm Laura Hale, Derek's sister, sorry our introduction wasn't better,” 

Stiles leant across Derek and shook her hand quickly. He said, “Stiles,” before wondering if his name was supposed to be a secret or something. Oh well. 

“Stiles,” she tried out the name in her mouth, “What's that short for?” 

“How come I've never heard of you before?” 

Laura smiled slowly and leant back in her seat, “I only found out Derek existed a few months ago when he sought me out. I had no idea I had a living sibling before then. It was rather touching. Why he didn't tell you about it is something you'll have to bring up with my brother,” 

“And what are you doing here?” Stiles asked, putting a hand on Derek's leg as he tensed at the obvious provocation.

“I thought I could stay here for a few days,” she looked around, “Of course that's before I saw the place,” her eyes fixed back on Stiles, “Though I think that's between me and my brother really don't you?” 

“You can speak in front of me,”

“Clearly,” Laura snorted, eyes flicking to Derek and back again. She had them both there and she knew it. Stiles didn't think Derek had lied to him but he certainly had been keeping some things secret. He was trying not to think about it though as he didn't want to give Laura the satisfaction of seeing him angry. She leant back and scratched her heel against the top of the coffee table, “Must say I wasn't expecting a police officer to be living like this,”

“I'm redecorating,” Derek said defensively. Stiles and Laura laughed at exactly the same time. Stiles caught her eye and for a moment there was something kind there. She got up abruptly and walked around to stand behind Derek, placing a hand on his shoulder, 

“You're nesting. It's cute,” Derek shrugged his shoulders in irritation. Laura let go of him easily and walked over to the kitchen. Stiles slid his hand into Derek's and felt the other man sigh next to him. Laura opened the fridge, paused them closed it again with a faintly appalled look, “What exactly were you planning on feeding him?” 

“I don't need _feeding_ ,” Stiles frowned. 

“Derek, he just had his first change,” she continued, ignoring Stiles, “He's starving, look at him,” 

It hadn't occurred to Stiles that he'd not eaten anything for well over a day until Laura said that. It felt like a cue for his stomach to start gnawing. Still, he insisted, “I'm not his _pet_ ,” and turned to look at Derek to make sure he was as annoyed as Stiles felt. Derek looked back at him with worry and Stiles muttered, “Oh shit,”. 

“I saw a diner around the corner. That is if you two are allowed out in public...?” Laura grinned.

“We're allowed out,” Stiles glared. He almost pointed out that he was nearly eighteen but he wasn't sure that would help his case. 

“Then lets go. Derek's treat,” she marched over and opened the door. 

“Why don't you go on ahead,” Derek offered. Laura's smile widened.

“Oh no,” she stepped over and grabbed Stiles with one hand and Derek with the other and forcing them to their feet, “I want to catch up.”

~

Stiles pretty much devoured the first plate that came to him while Derek watched him with intent concern, not touching his own. When Stiles had scooped up the last bit of scrambled egg he switched their plates and insisted, “Eat,”

“You eat,” Stiles glared, the food already calling out to him but Derek's nagging getting on his nerves. 

Laura leant forward on the table eyes wide, perching her head on her hands, and sighed dramatically at them. 

“Shut up,” Derek scowled at her. He called the waitress over and ordered more food. Only then did Stiles start in on the second plate, this time actually pausing to chew. He hooked his ankle around Derek's under the table and felt Derek relax a little next to him. It was a good power to have but he was having to use it too much for his liking this morning. Laura's own food was just picked at, she seemed far more intent on watching Stiles and Derek. “What did you want to catch up with?” Derek asked, sipping his black coffee while he waited for his food to come. 

“Did Derek turn you?” 

Stiles coughed on a forkful of eggs and glanced between Laura and Derek, “I... yes,” he didn't know if he was supposed to tell the truth or not but he figured that Laura would probably be able to tell if he was lying. This was just Derek's fault for not fully briefing him beforehand. For keeping secrets. 

“Interesting,”

“Laura,” Derek warned. Laura shrugged, forgoing cutlery to pop a piece of bacon into her mouth with her perfectly manicured fingers. 

“No, I'm just surprised. He just didn't mention you when I saw him a month ago.” 

Stiles paid no attention to Laura's attempts to make him feel insecure. The timeline had started adding up in his head. _That_ was where Derek had gone when he'd not been visiting him at the hospital. He ate his food and tried to keep in order all the questions he wanted to ask Derek as soon as he got him alone. 

“I didn't tell you everything,” Derek said before thanking the waitress for bringing him his food. 

“Hmm,” Laura agreed, “Did you tell _him_ everything?” 

Stiles lifted his head at that. All three of them knew the answer. But Stiles was still more inclined to believe Derek than this person who seemed intent on causing some kind of mischief. He leant back in his seat and looked at Laura, “Is that your business?”

“We're family now darling,” she flashed him a toothy grin, “Of course it is,” her eyes flicked to Derek, “But he's loyal to you Derek, I like that, trusts you for some reason,” 

“Laura, what do you want here?” Derek asked through gritted teeth. 

Laura leaned in, suddenly serious, “I wanted your help but clearly I came to the wrong person. Clearly a little power has gone to your head. Four weeks an Alpha and you do _this_?” she gestured to Stiles, “You're no better than he is,” 

Derek dug out his keys and pressed them into Stiles' hand, “Take my car, go back to the apartment, I'm going to see Laura out of town,” he said, eyes never wavering from his sister. 

“And how are you going to do that without a car?” Stiles asked, ignoring Laura's smirk and picking apart the keys on the chain and handing him back the one for his Camaro, “I can walk back to the apartment from here,” 

“Stiles--”

“Nope, this Werewolf can walk one block in broad daylight by himself,” he tended to waver between touched and irritated by Derek's protectiveness but at the moment he was definitely settled on the latter. But to appease Derek, and irritate Laura, he reached up and turned Derek's face toward him before planting a kiss on his lips, sliding his tongue into Derek's mouth and enjoying the startled noise that he made before kissing back. When he pulled away he patted Derek on the cheek, “See ya later babe,” a frown formed on Derek's face that had nothing to do with the situation and Stiles smiled, “Ok, that's a no to 'babe' then, good to know,” before sliding out of the booth and allowing Derek to get out. 

Derek squeezed his hand for a moment and muttered, “Be careful,” before sliding past and standing next to Laura. 

“Are you telling me I can't even go sight-seeing?” 

“There's an old abandoned mall that might be right up your alley,” Stiles supplied, sitting back down and going to work on Derek's neglected second plate. Laura made a face at him and for a moment he could see her as a big sister but then she was back to glaring at Derek and it was gone. She stood up.

“Well nice to meet you Stiles,” she said, holding out her hand to brush her wrist against Stiles' neck. He jerked back before she made contact. Derek wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her away with a low growl. Stiles ate quietly, listening to their conversation as they walked back to the car.

“He seems like a sweet boy Derek,” 

“Stop talking about him,” 

“I just feel sorry for him,” 

“Nothing is going to happen,” 

“Now that you're an Alpha--”

“Yes, I am an Alpha. I'm _the_ Alpha here in Beacon Hills. This is my territory, what happens here is up to me,” 

“Well I don't--”

And then the car doors slammed and Derek was starting the engine and Stiles couldn't hear anymore. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment before realising that Derek had left without paying and that he had no idea where his wallet was.

~

“Scott my bestest of all my best buddies,” Stiles grinned as his friend walked out of the diner with him, several bucks lighter, “You are a lifesaver,”

“Where did Derek go?”

“Werewolf business. That's the business we have now Scott. The business of Werewolves. I'd tell you but it's very mush mush. No wait that's huskies,” 

Scott rolled his eyes, “If he leaves you half-way through your first date and doesn't pay I don't think he's really a keeper Stiles,” 

“It really was important Werewolf business Scott, after I teach you the handshake I'll let you into the club,” he stared at Scott's mom's car as they approached it, “Where are we going?”

“Uh, your house,” 

“No no no no, I have to go back to Derek's,” 

“What.”

“Scott, he needs me to be there,”

“Stiles, what the hell? Has Derek like.. brainwashed you or something? You're wearing his clothes, you've got bite marks on your neck,” Stiles tugged at his t-shirt a little to try and hide the mark, “You didn't come home last night and now you can't go anywhere without Derek's permission?”

Stiles hand suddenly shot up to his face, remembering something, “Oh hey Scott,” he said excitedly, “is there a scar on my face?”

“What? No,” Scott said, looking extremely irritated, eyes narrowing when he asked, “Why?”. Stiles beamed. 

“That's awesome. Ok, ok, how about I phrase it like this. Derek is in a dan-- a situation. Derek worries about me. Derek will come back to his apartment and do his best impression of a man exploding from anxiety if he sees I'm not there. He isn't mind controlling me--”

“It sounds like some kind of control--”

“--Though I realise if I was being mind controlled that is exactly what I would say," he mused, "He isn't holding me hostage. I shall sleep tonight in my own bed. I just need to do this one thing first,” Scott still looked unconvinced so Stiles brought out the big guns, “If Allison was worried about you wouldn't you want to reassure her?” 

“You're comparing me and Allison to you and Derek?” Scott asked. 

“Yes Scott. Yes I am.”

Scott considered, “And the bite marks?”

“Do you really want to know?” Scott wrinkled his nose, “No? It was kinda awesome--”

“No Stiles. Just... go back to Derek's,” he waved his hand, reaching for the car door before adding, “And call your dad,” 

“Will do. I'm in your debt Scott. Hey, I didn't take you away from anything important did I?”

“Just school,” Scott said pointedly. 

“Oh. School. Yeah,” a pang of guilt hit Stiles when he remembered his dad's words about forgetting about his future. 

Scott shrugged and climbed into the car. He shut the door and looked at Stiles for a long moment before pulling away. Stiles felt like a shitty friend but there were other, bigger issues at stake here. Or so it seemed. He really had no idea what was going on except there was a mystery to be solved and he kinda loved those. Certainly more than deciding about his future. No idea seemed more distant now than that. He pushed the thought away and started walking back to Derek's apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and kudos guys. I do really appreciate it. Stiles makes one awful joke in this chapter which I wish I could apologise for but made me laugh for a good minute when I wrote it down (which may give you some insight into my sense of humour). xxx


	10. Chapter 10

Nothing bad happened to him on the way back and as he walked inside the familiar messy room he was stunned to find how much it felt like home. Maybe that was just the smell of Derek though. Or their combined smell over the couch, in the kitchen and particularly by the door. It made him catch his breath a little easier, pulled some of the tension out of his skin. He walked over to the fridge and opened the door, determined to solve one mystery at least. Inside was half a cucumber and a jar of mayonnaise. He played back Laura's horrified expression in his head and nodded. 

He looked around for his clothes and finally found them washed and neatly folded on a chair by what he assumed was Derek's dining-for-one dinner table. It seemed like Derek had had a chance to do some laundry when Stiles was passed out yesterday. On further inspection of Derek's apartment he found himself having to change his initial view of the place. It seemed like maybe Derek wasn't the slob he had first appeared. Clean uniforms hung in his wardrobe along with smart shirts and trousers. Stiles ran his fingers over some neatly folded silk ties and tried to push the memory of Derek in a suit out of his mind from last year's police charity event. Too distracting. The place actually had the look of somewhere that had been well cared for until recently. A traitorous little happy feeling entered his chest at the idea that maybe it had started to go into disarray around here in those few Stiles-less weeks that Derek had suffered. Claw marks raked through the wallpaper by Derek's bed and progressed in a shaky line across the paint in his living room. Stiles followed them with his fingers and felt the happy flair die. Though this might be tangible proof of Derek's feelings for him it was also proof of his despair and Stiles never wanted to be the cause of that. He came back into the living room and found a collection of tester patches of paint on the wall where Derek had started to put the room back together again. He considered the colours for a moment before deciding he knew nothing about decorating. 

Stiles was just about to turn on Derek's TV to snoop into what shows he TiVo'd (totally not avoiding calling his dad) when the door opened and Laura walked in. Stiles dropped the remote and turned slowly to face her, setting his body in a defensive posture.

“Hey there sweetie,” Laura said, not looking at him but glancing around the room instead as if checking they were alone. 

“Where's Derek?” he knew that Derek had sensed when something was wrong with him before but so far, except when they were in the same room, that had been a one-way street and his anxiety that something had happened to Derek while he'd been goofing around in his apartment hit him hard. Laura moved into the room to glance in the bedroom and Stiles turned with her, keeping her in his line of sight. 

“Don't worry, he's fine, I just wanted a chance to talk to you alone,” 

“What's your definition of _fine_?” 

Satisfied that they were alone Laura finally turned her attention to him, green eyes intense, “How long ago did Derek turn you?”

“What makes you think I'm going to answer any of your questions?” Stiles asked. Now Laura seemed to have finished her pacing he started to edge himself towards the kitchen, hands trailing along the back of the couch like he was just moving nervously. 

“Because there are things going on here Stiles that my dear brother clearly hadn't filled you in on and I think you know that,” 

“I trust Derek,”

“You would do,” Laura muttered before locking eyes with him again, “How about I keep asking questions until you find one you don't mind answering. Did you want to be turned?”

“Yes,” Stiles said instantly, “Derek wouldn't have done it if I hadn't,” and because he didn't like how Laura was talking about Derek, and because it helped mask his movement towards the kitchen he volunteered, “He saved me,”

“Hmm,” Laura looked sceptical, “Having a pack makes an Alpha stronger. I know my brother can seem very sincere when he wants to be but don't fool yourself into believing that he did this for your benefit,” 

“Ah, I can see how you might think I'm being dramatic. But I mean he literally saved me. I was dying,” he reached behind him into the knife draw that he'd just discovered a few minutes previously. Laura tilted her head to one side curiously. 

“Dying? Dying how?” 

“Cancer. I had days left, maybe hours. Derek gave me a way out and I took it,” his fingers closed around the handle of a knife and faster than he could track Laura was at his side, prying the blade from his fingers. She grabbed his wrist and twisted it painfully until something snapped, 

“Derek really hasn't taught you anything has he,” she raised a hand and dragged her claws lightly across his cheek, “We don't need weapons, we already have them right here, we are weapons,” grip still tight she dragged him over to the couch and pushed him down onto it, “Now, why would Derek do that for you?” 

“I've known him all my life,” Stiles gingerly touched his wrist where the bones were already mending, “We... I don't know! We grew up together! We've always had a connection I guess, maybe he felt sorry for me,” he realised his plan to not talk wasn't going very well but his healing wrist aside she hadn't actually tried to hurt him, “You obviously have a different theory why don't you tell it to me? Alphas make other Werewolves for power or something? I'm part of his scheme for world domination?” he shook his head, “You didn't spend even a little bit of time with Derek did you? If you had you'd know that's not what he's like,” 

Laura drew back, the family scowl on her face, “You really had cancer.”

“I really did. Pancreatic. Inoperable.” Laura shook her head and instantly started making her way towards the door, “Hey, where's Derek?” Stiles snarled, standing, his vision flickered for a second and he realised his eyes must have flashed, though he didn't know what colour. 

“Don't worry, I have no doubt he'll be back to you soon,” she said with a smirk and then she was gone, leaving the door wide open as she walked out. Stiles picked up his phone from the pile of clothes and dialled Derek's number. No answer. Since becoming a Werewolf he'd not needed adderal or felt the tell-tail beginnings of a panic attack but now he was getting close. He dialled the only number that made sense.

“Stiles?”

“Dad,” Stiles breathed, the sound of his voice alone calming him down.

“Stiles are you ok? What's wrong?”

“I'm ok. Everything's fine,” Stiles spoke slowly, not quite trusting himself.

“Derek said there was some strange Werewolf running around,” 

Stiles had forgotten that Derek had phoned his dad. That all seemed like so long ago now. 

“Yeah it's.. it's ok,” he said, trying to sound as calm as possible. There was no need to worry his dad just yet. Laura seemed to have believed what he told her at least. Until he found out what had happened to Derek everything else was secondary anyway. 

“Well are you coming home tonight?” his tone said that the answer had better be yes. 

“I don't know,” Stiles just concentrated on breathing. A pounding had started in his head. He got ready to pull the phone away from his ear, just knowing that he couldn't take his dad shouting at him, knowing that it'd drop him over the edge.

“Are you ok son?” was the soft question that came through to him. His vision was drifting now, greying out, but he hung onto the tone of his dad's voice as his legs gave out and he fell in graceless increments back onto the couch, “Are you having a panic attack?”

“I don't know. I think so,” someone said. It must have been Stiles but the voice sounded far away. 

“Just listen to my voice son. Listen and breathe.” Stiles closed his eyes and did as instructed, his dad kept talking, “Melissa took that bloodwork into the doctors today, they couldn't believe it, I don't think you'll get out of this without a little bit of prodding and probing, but they definitely took you off the critical list,” Stiles was barely listening, just letting the words wash over him, his dad's soothing tone more important that the content, “And you'll be glad to know Scott's been saving all your homework for you. Breathe Stiles, it's ok, breathe. I think he misses you a lot, he showed up yesterday to hang out with me even though he knew you wouldn't be here. Just went on about that girlfriend Allison of his. I think Derek's going to struggle getting enough paid leave for all this time he's taken off. Luckily I have an in with his boss. So he'd better remember he needs to stay on my good side--”

Derek burst into the room, smacking the door back against the wall where it bounced and vibrated on its hinges. He took in Stiles and he sagged slightly, anger dissipating and eyes squeezing shut. Blood coated one side of his face and Stiles hated to think what he'd looked like running down the street like that. “I'll have to call you back Dad,” he said letting his phone fall to the floor and shakily standing to move to Derek's side. The other man met him half-way, face drawn and concerned. Stiles reached up to Derek's head but couldn't find a wound, it must have already healed. Derek leant into his touch, hands reaching out and grabbing his arm awkwardly. He nosed at Stiles' wrist for a moment, breathing shuddering breaths, before opening his eyes again. 

“I'm ok Derek, she didn't hurt me,” he assured, trying to comfort as his own senses struggled to come back. Fingers ghosted over his wrist and Derek's eyes darkened, Stiles needed to learn that trick pronto. “I'm ok,” he repeated. Derek reached out and pulled him into a tight hug, relief pouring off him. For a moment it was too much and he felt the blood rush in his ears. Then contact seemed to bring him back. The colours swam back into his vision and his lungs let him take a full breath again. Back to himself Stiles ran shaking fingers through Derek's hair for a moment, soothing him, before he said, “Derek..” Derek pulled back and captured his mouth in a soft, tender kiss. Stiles reciprocated for a moment then pulled back, “Derek, we need to talk,” 

He wanted nothing more than to drop it. To let Derek pull the tiredness out of his limbs, to let the taste of acid leave his mouth and the nausea dissolve, to wrap himself up in Derek's body and turn his brain off. But that had never been way he responded to when there were things he needed to know and an opportunity for screwing things up. 

Derek blinked at him in confusion and Stiles tried not to give in to relieved amusement. He tugged Derek a little further into the apartment and shut the door behind him. Then he let Derek go and stepped back. He need a little more clarity of mind and the physical distance helped that. He felt Derek tense as he began to pace, walking the weakness out of his legs while Derek's eyes trained on him. Finally he said, “The last couple of days have been really busy, I get that, but we had a whole week before when you could have told me this stuff. And I kept trying to guess at what Laura was insinuating all while saying that I trust you, which I do, but I think it's time you told me everything now so that I can know what the hell is going on.” 

“Stiles nothing--”

“Derek so help me God if you say nothing is going on I am going to be really pissed,” he sounded it already, “I like that you're protective, I think it's pretty sweet actually... but _this_ level of paternal does nothing for me. Remember that damsel conversation we had? Because I don't think you heard me. I don't want you to keep things from me. It isn't for my own good. It puts me in danger actually. Tell me what is going on and let me make an informed decision. Is it so bad that you think I'd just leave if I found out the truth?” 

Derek walked past him and into the bedroom. Stiles blinked and turned. He waited for a moment to see if he was coming back but nothing. He had to work very hard to keep his anger in check, to stop himself from storming after Derek with strung-together profanities and accusations of childishness. Derek leaving had settled a little dread in his stomach. He stooped and picked up his phone, sending his dad a quick message of reassurance that his panic attack was over and everything was ok and that he'd call him soon. Then he walked to the kitchen and wetted a cloth that he hoped wasn't too dirty before following Derek into the bedroom. He was sitting on the bed, head almost in his hands. Stiles reached forward and handed him the cloth. Derek looked at it for a moment before bringing it up to wipe at the blood on his head. Time for a change of tactics. 

“Why didn't you save my mom?”

He knew it wasn't the first question Derek had been expecting but it was one that had been swimming around in his mind since that first day when Derek had said that he could save him. He held onto the doorframe, waiting. Derek watched him then began slowly, his voice measured like he was reading a prepared speech, probably because he'd practiced what he was going to say for a while. Maybe he had been expecting the question after all. 

“I didn't know then. I didn't know everything. Remember I wasn't raised by Werewolves. I had no idea I had other family out there. Mrs Morrell tried her best to teach me but I think my parents' deaths scared her and she didn't seem to like the subject much. I was alone. Your mom was the one who pulled me into your family, introduced me to you. I knew I wasn't like you but she gave me moments when I'd forget for a while that I was so different... If I'd have known of a way to save her back then I would have. To even change someone into a Werewolf you need to be an Alpha and I wasn't then,”

“How do you become an Alpha?” Stiles asked, stepping into the room. He felt himself relaxing now that Derek was speaking and he was finally going to get some answers. 

Derek ducked his head, “You kill an Alpha,”

“You killed someone?” Stiles froze. Derek kept his eyes on the ground, shame bowing his shoulders. 

“I knew you were sick. I could smell it, could tell by the way you held yourself, but I didn't know how sick until you collapsed. When they told us it was cancer I knew I wasn't going to let you die,” his hands tightened into fists and Stiles felt like he was squeezing his heart, his pulse beating unpleasantly loudly in his own ears, “So I went to look for a cure. I didn't know what I was doing really. I thought if there were Werewolves in the world there must be something else to cure what you had. The first person I asked laughed in my face and told me I just needed to turn you, like it was just that simple,” he shook his head. 

“You killed someone. For me,” Stiles said numbly, his stomach contracting painfully around his three lunches that now sat inside him like stones.

When he'd finally been convinced of the existence of Werewolves the ones in movies and myths were the first that crossed his mind. Violent and out of control, monsters and victims. But the idea of Derek being like that was absurd. Derek was a police officer like his dad. Derek liked Adam Sandler unironically. His eyebrows met in the middle when he did crosswords. He thought Monty Python was dumb (but still quoted it whenever they had thin mints just to see Stiles laugh). He actually believed in his job and managed to find an enthusiasm for it that Stiles' dad had lost a long time ago. Derek had caught him when he fallen out of a tree. He'd helped mend the fence when he and Scott had tried to vault it and had flattened it instead. He'd sat around in their living room laughing and drinking beer with his dad, face flushed and just the right side of tipsy and eyes lingering on Stiles for just a fraction longer than usual. He didn't kill people. 

Stiles wasn't worth it. 

He wasn't worth someone else's life, wasn't worth Derek going to jail, wasn't worth Derek hating himself forever for what he'd done.

“Who did you kill?” he wasn't sure if Derek had spoken while his mind whirred on but words were only just starting to come back together for him.

“His name was Vincent. He was a rogue Alpha, even his pack wanted him dead. You were in the hospital so you probably didn't hear about the case of a family slaughtered while hiking. That was him. And that was how I met Laura as well because she was chasing him too. She does that. It might not seem like it from how she acted today but she'd very big on Werewolf codes--”

“There are Werewolf codes? Dude, what if I'd broken one of them without meaning to?” Stiles hadn't meant to butt in but now that Derek was actually telling him things his curiosity was at it's peak, “What are the punishments?”

“Death. Usually. And they're all things I knew you wouldn't do, I thought I had time to explain. The biggest rule is no killing humans. I tagged along with Laura. I didn't tell her my plan but I knew I would have to be the one to kill Vincent so that I could become an Alpha. I think she suspected that was what I wanted but I was useful to her. If I hadn't been so focussed on my plan it might have even been different between us. But Laura's used to people using her.” he said it so matter-of-factly that Stiles almost winced but he knew there was more to that story but he let Derek continue, “I wanted her to trust me but I couldn't tell her the truth. We worked out we were brother and sister almost straight away. Why we were separated I don't know. I think she found my lack of interest strange. It was sheer luck that we met at all and I didn't have room to think about that,” he shook his head, engrossed enough in his story now that his voice was a little more animated, “One day we got a tip on where Vincent was hiding, this old rock formation in the forest. I went in with Laura until the very end when I knocked her aside and killed him myself. I felt the Alpha power... I can't even describe how it felt. Like being more together and more alone than ever. When the feeling passed there was just a dead body at my feet. He was an evil person but...” his voice trailed off and the regret was left unsaid.

“You did it for me,”

“I don't know. I wanted to become an Alpha. In that moment that I killed him I wanted to feel what it was like... I had a mission but I had also just spent weeks around more Werewolves that I even thought existed. It's one thing being told about the pack structure and another experiencing your place in it for the first time. You saw how Laura was today and that was mostly playful. It's hard not to get caught up in that... He would have killed more people. It was worth it. That was what I kept telling myself. And the feeling of having betrayed Laura, of having killed... that was only made better by the knowledge that I'd be able to save you. I didn't tell you because I knew you'd blame yourself. But it was my choice and I'd do it again a hundred times over. And I didn't tell you because I knew you'd hate me for it. At least you're alive to hate me.” 

“Laura said being part of a pack makes you stronger,”

“It does,” Derek admitted.

“Is that the reason you turned me?” he pressed, “Is that why I feel so connected to you?”

Derek looked up at him in confusion. His eyes searched Stiles' face for a moment before he drew in a deep breath. 

“When I was fourteen Mrs Morrell told me that although I could have human friends, date humans, have sex with humans, I could never mate with one, it just didn't happen. It upset me and I didn't even know why then. I went a little.. off the rails.”

“I remember,” 

“I didn't even know another Werewolf. You know that feeling you have,” he reached forward, hand stuttering uncertainly, and pressed a palm to Stiles' chest, “that connection. I felt it too, but I thought it'd never be satisfied, that I'd never be...” he pressed his lips together tight and took his hand off Stiles' chest. Stiles reached out to chase his fingers but met only air, Derek was looking down again, “Then something started to happen. I found that even just _being_ with you made that feeling lessen. It did satisfy me. It did calm me down,” he shrugged, “I don't know maybe it always had before I really knew the name for it,”

“Love?” Stiles asked uncertainly. It felt cheesy and unusual and awkward and exhilarating and hopeful. Derek shut his eyes.

“Love, desire, need, contentment... all of those things. Mrs Morrell said I couldn't have them with a human but I learnt that wasn't true,” he opened his eyes and looked at Stiles, “Of course I didn't know how you felt back then and your father had a loaded weapon so...”

“You couldn't smell it on me?” Stiles found that hard to believe. He hadn't been a Werewolf for long but he was already well-versed in the smell of arousal. 

“I reasoned it away. You were a teenage boy,”

“I had the most elaborate seduction plan for my eighteen birthday,” 

Derek raised his eyebrows and Stiles grinned. 

“In an ideal world I wouldn't have turned you until I had more time to explain things to you. And if you hadn't wanted to turn I would have still tried to be with you. If you wanted to be with me. Our connection wouldn't have been as it is now but it would have been enough. Yes you make me stronger now because you're part of my pack. But it's not just that. You're... my mate,” 

Stiles felt his pulse quicken at the word, “What does that mean? I mean like we're joined by fate or animal instinct or..?”

“It means I fell in love with you. And you fell in love with me. Fate has nothing to do with it,” 

“But it means more than that doesn't it.. it sounds like it does. Does this mean I have to wash and clean for you and make you little Werewolf cookies?”

“We don't... _I_ don't... believe that there is one person out there made for us or anything like that. But when we fall in love and we're loved in return, it becomes a bond. Unbreakable. I take care of you and you take care of me.” 

“Wow. So we're like...Werewolf married or something?” Stiles sounded faint. He felt faint. “You could have at least asked me first,” Derek looked up quickly, worry written all over his features that morphed just as quickly into resignation. Stiles didn't want to have the exes conversation (it'd be pretty one-sided) but he felt a pang of anger for anyone who had taught Derek to expect rejection straight off. 

It was difficult not to be annoyed at the principal. By the idea that somehow Derek had made this decision for them that had changed his life forever. He had said it only happened when they loved each other and so Stiles' acceptance was implied by whatever mystical rules governed all of this but the space between love and eternity felt vast and intimidating from a human perspective. And like so much over the last few days Derek had kept it secret from him. It irritated.

It wouldn't have changed things. The idea of being separated from Derek now was the same as the idea of being separated from one of his limbs. Their lives had been entwined long before this summer. And he wanted it. A part inside of him wanted it without restraint, wanted to sink into that storybook forever where no-one had to do the cleaning and there were no bills or doors slammed because of tiny arguments that both were too stubborn to bow over. It rejoiced in the idea and the validation that Derek loved him as well. 

But it irritated. Stiles needed to know things. Just because figuring things out came easy to him didn't mean he didn't resent having to do it. Even if he would have made the same choices it didn't mean he wanted someone to make them for him. 

He looked down at Derek, shoulders hunched and expecting rejection and he couldn't quite bring himself to bring up the idea of Werewolf divorce, even as a half-joke. He remembered that Derek had told him this story fully expecting Stiles to hate him. Fully expecting him to leave. 

So he felt that last little bit of irritation. 

Then he let it go. 

He moved the last couple of feet between them and knelt down so that they were face-to-face. Derek looked up at him wearily and Stiles held his gaze, “I'm not saying no. And I'm not going anywhere. It's just a surprise. It'll take a while to get used to it,” he said softly. And then because he couldn't quite forget, “For me and my dad,”. Derek closed his eyes, a tremor running through his body. Stiles ran a couple of fingers over the frown-lines on his brow then leant in to kiss them, “I know you don't believe in soulmates,” he murmured into Derek's skin, “But it's only ever been you for me Derek,” Derek sagged forward into his arms, resting his face on Stiles' shoulder. 

“You can't say that, not after what I just told you,”

Stiles wrapped his arms around him and held him tight. He could place the scents of Derek's apartment now. Underneath the dirt, sex, food, leather and cleaning products. Loneliness. Sadness. Fear. His heart ached. 

“I didn't want to do it like this,” Derek said, voice small, “You have a choice. I want you to have a choice. Because I don't feel like it's fate. I just know that I would choose you,” 

He felt the out and he didn't take it, instead he asked “How many people have you told all this to?” 

“Everything? Just you. I told someone some of it once...” Stiles could hear him gritting his teeth, “it was the wrong someone,” 

Stiles could tell there was a story there but he didn't want to press. Things everywhere were falling into place. Things that he'd noticed all his life. Like how Derek seemed so popular in school but never seemed to have friends round to his house. How he used to divide his time between staying in his room and pacing the back yard with a frown. How he didn't like crowds. How he seemed happier when he turned eighteen and moved out, how he'd filled out a little, started to smile a bit more around strangers. He was starting to see the full extent of Derek's loneliness and felt like the final piece in the Derek Hale puzzle was slotting into place. 

He thought about how he was the one who used to drag Derek out of his room to play video games. Or he was the one who'd toss a water bomb over the fence to stop Derek pacing. How he would get bored in crowded parties too and seek out Derek to talk to. How sometimes Derek would sit down with him for dinner even when his dad was on duty and they'd just eat in companionable silence. None of that seemed like an inescapable, mystical fate. It just seemed like the good parts of a messy life that happened between school and lacrosse and goofing off with Scott. It didn't feel intrusive, or forced, it felt like those moments with Derek were _his_ , made by them both. And he thought about how Derek must have thought he'd lose all of that if he told the truth. Just as he must have been told his whole life that he would. 

He admonished himself for all those times he'd complained to Scott about how grumpy Derek was, how antisocial – even though at the time he'd been more complaining that Derek was grumpy _with him_ , wasn't social _with him_. Derek couldn't trust anyone. Was lying to everyone. Thought that if anyone knew him they'd be horrified, scared. He had no parents, no real family, and the one he'd tried to make for himself was fragile, all gone if he didn't keep his nature under control, if he didn't hide everything. And then what he'd had to do to save Stiles, to kill someone, would have made it even more impossible to imagine that he could ever reveal himself. But he did it anyway. 

Stiles ran a soothing hand up the back of Derek's neck and into his hair and said the only thing that he could say, “I love you,” hoping that it would be enough. Hoping that Derek would see that he wasn't running, that he was holding on tighter. He couldn't heal him anymore than Derek's love could replace the years of loneliness and anger he'd felt when his mother died and his father went missing. But he could try to take care of him. Try to show him that it was over now. 

“Derek?” Stiles arms tightened around Derek and he turned his head to glare at Laura who was standing in the bedroom doorway. Her face was drained, worried, not like the irritatingly confident person he'd come to expect, “I'm sorry,” she said, soft. 

“What is it?” Stiles snapped. He could feel Derek's embarrassment, could feel the wetness of tears against his shirt, and tried to hold him tighter. Derek was growing tenser, not in a way that Laura could probably see from the door but in a way that Stiles could feel. He was putting himself back together again, slotting in all the old armour. Stiles wanted to stay with the more vulnerable Derek a little longer, try to comfort him a little more. A new wave of protectiveness washed over him and it wasn't just that of a Beta towards his Alpha, but of a mate. He felt the difference so clearly now that he wondered how he'd been confused before. Laura's eyes flicked from Derek to Stiles and back again. 

“Derek I'm sorry I thought... I don't know what I thought,” she shook her head, looking devastated, “I called Peter,”


	11. Chapter 11

Her words meant nothing to Stiles but the next few seconds told him something terrible had happened. Derek pulled from his arms and jumped up from the bed with a feral growl. He shoved past Stiles and grabbed Laura, slamming her up against the wall. She was either paralysed by surprise or guilt because for a moment she just looked at him open-mouthed before she fought back, kicking him in his stomach and causing him to drop her to the floor. He grabbed her by the back of her neck and threw her from the bedroom into the living room. She twisted in mid-air and slid along the floor, claws scraping into the wooden floor to stop herself. Stiles stood slowly and stepped out of the bedroom to take in the scene. He looked down at Laura and advised her to "Stay down," before he placed a hand on Derek's shoulder. The Alpha twisted with a growl and for a moment he thought he might too be in danger but as soon as Derek looked at him his expression changed to one of worry. He pulled Stiles close to his chest, restricting his breathing, “Can someone please tell me what's happening?” Stiles asked with some difficulty, his face squished into Derek's shoulder, “Who's Peter?”

Laura sat up slowly, taking Stiles advice to stay on the floor for now, “Peter's my father. Well, technically my Uncle. Derek's too. He raised me,” 

Laura had this way of just dropping information like it was nothing.

“He's your— _Jesus_ how many of you Hales are there? And you calling him is a bad thing because..?”

“I thought Derek was abusing his Alpha powers." she explained, glaring up at her brother defiantly as she picked splinters out from under her nails, "He'd had them for only a week and he was turning _humans_. Underage humans. We have very strict rules on that. Very.” 

“To protect humans or stop Alphas from getting too powerful?” Stiles asked. He wasn't sure why he was turning into this into a discussion on Werewolf morals rather than addressing that actual problem but he realised that the tension in the room from the two Alphas was making him anxious. That tended to make his mouth less controlled. He twisted a little out of Derek's grip. It was a bit undignified trying to have a serious conversation while pinned to your mate's chest and he was sure it was making him feel even more nervous. Derek made a little noise of complaint so Stiles twisted their fingers together and gave his hand a light squeeze. 

“Depends on who you ask,” Laura frowned, “Regardless he's on his way,” 

“And when he gets here we can't just explain the situation?”

“Maybe. You can try,” Laura sounded doubtful. 

“But you're on our side now right, that's why you came to warn us?” Stiles asked, trying to puzzle it out. 

“I'm on _my_ side,” and now Laura stood, “And the side of Werewolves. What Derek did was wrong. Against the law--”

“That Alpha was killing people!” Stiles still felt a little bit of conflict about the situation himself but he didn't want to show that in front of Laura. 

“I'm not talking about Vincent, I'm talking about changing you. It was against our laws. However a compelling case could be made considering the circumstances... Unfortunately there is no rule or guarantee that says you have the right to put forward your case. When Peter comes he'd be well within his rights to kill one of you, both of you at a stretch, without asking any questions,” 

“His rights under what? I'm pretty sure murder is still illegal in Beacon Hills,” 

“We enforce our own laws. There are enough humans who know about us who help us keep it that way. We police our own and they don't bother us. Most of them anyway,” 

Stiles glanced up at Derek, “How did you manage to even pretend to get along with these draconian laws?” he ignored the throbbing pain in his hand where Derek had started to increase his grip and looked back at Laura, “But he's your family, and Derek's, he'll want to listen won't he?” 

“Peter's a Beta. A Beta who used to be an Alpha,” she said as if that explained everything. Stiles opened his mouth to ask more questions. 

“When will he be here?” Derek asked finally. Stiles hadn't realised how much of the conversation he'd been carrying until then.

“I don't know. He didn't tell me where he was. Could be an hour, could be a week. I think it'll be sooner though,” she sighed, “I don't think he'll attack straight off. I think he'll listen,” she didn't sound utterly convinced.

“You said he's a Beta though. You two are Alphas. I'm a Beta. Right? Surely that is enough to fight him off if it comes to that.”

“Wait until you meet him,” 

“Stiles isn't going to meet him.” 

“Geez, what is so scary about this guy, does he piss poison or something? Any answers please?” Stiles snapped, getting increasingly frustrated with their vagueness. 

“Derek, I'll take Stiles back to his house. I gave Peter this address so this is where he'll come. I'll join up with you later and we can reason with him together,” Laura instructed, suddenly sounding like the seasoned Alpha that she was. 

“Fuck that,” Stiles pulled away from Derek, feeling his anger ratchet up as soon as they stopped touching but liking the feeling because it cleared his head, “Derek is my pack,” 

“He's not just pack he's your mate anyone can see that, whatever Peter's plans he'll use that against you,” Laura explained as if it was obvious.

“Stiles--”

“No. Nope. I'm not going to sit at home wondering what's going on when I could be helping,”

“Stiles please--” Derek reached out but Stiles evaded his touch again. 

“No. You love me, I understand,” he wasn't quite at the point where he could say that casually yet so he ignored the twitch his fingers made towards Derek and the little leap his heart gave, “But remember what you said about mates? That we felt the same way about each other? So if you don't like the idea of Peter hurting me, think how I feel about the idea of him hurting you? ...And also me. Because I don't like that idea either. So can we come up with another plan please? One than I can be a part of?” 

Instead of Derek it was Laura who answered, “You're too new Stiles. Too untrained. You'd distract us both in a fight. It's not just about protecting you. It's about protecting us as well,” 

“So now we're cutting straight to the fighting? Negotiating is out of the window? And you say you don't need me...” Stiles rolled his eyes. 

“We have to consider the possibility,” 

“I might not be a hundred percent trained wolf yet but I know how to shoot a gun,” he looked at Derek, “My dad taught us both, remember?”

“A gun won't hurt a Werewolf. Not for long enough,” 

“I know you guys— _us_ guys heal quickly but what if I shoot like right in the sweet spot, the brain stem or something, surely you'd be instantly dead and wouldn't be able to heal?”

“I don't know.” Laura said doubtfully, “Are you that good of a shot?”

“No. Just curious,” Laura rolled her eyes and Derek sighed and looked at the floor. Stiles definitely saw the family resemblance. “Ok ok, I'll go back home,” Stiles conceded, “But only because my research is there. And free wi-fi. I can be the sexy researcher with my glasses askew whose hard-work actually saves the day in the end,” 

Derek sighed again, this time with relief. Stiles inclined his head. Laura raised in eyebrow but said nothing when Derek followed him into the bedroom. Stiles stepped back as Derek closed the door. His instinct was to get close to his Alpha, sooth both of their nerves, but he wanted more answers. He knew Laura could still hear them but he needed to ask, “Can we trust her?” 

“Laura is honest. She doesn't lie. I don't know if she's on our side but I think she wants to help us at the moment. I know she doesn't trust Peter,”

“What happened there?” Derek glanced at the door and Stiles knew he'd have to wait for an answer to that question, “So you think it's safe to go with her?”

“Yes,” 

“And you think we need to run and hide? How do you know Peter isn't going to turn up with a housewarming plant and an engagement gift? Laura called him her father, he raised her after your parents died. Is he really so dangerous?”

“Yes,”

“Hm, how about some specifics, if it helps pretend like I'm your mate who you trust and whose life might be in danger from not knowing all the information,” 

“Stiles,” Derek was gritting his teeth again, arms crossed over his chest, “ _Nothing_ is going to happen to you,” he said with a kind of forced certainty. He eyes glanced to the door again before he stepped forward. Stiles allowed him closer for a moment, waiting. Derek continued, voice low even though they both knew that Laura could still hear if she wanted to “I met Peter at the same time I met Laura. They were hunting Vincent together. Neither of them said it but it was easy to tell that Peter wanted the kill. Peter is well connected, well spoken, has authority and political sway. But he's not an Alpha. His desperation to get that back was easy to read even under all his charm. And Laura... she wanted to help him. I think she worried what it would give him but she wanted him out of her pack. I don't think he was the most pleasant parent to her and it's awkward when the child becomes the Alpha of a parent. When I came back from the forest an Alpha Peter congratulated me, told me he was proud, boasted about me even. But...”

“He wasn't,” 

“Another reason I left as soon as possible. I hoped that distance would lessen his anger. And unfortunately rogue Alphas aren't uncommon, he'd find another eventually to get what he wanted.”

“You're the one in danger, not me,” Stiles realised.

“We're all in danger. Laura as well for helping us,” 

“He wants to kill an Alpha to become an Alpha, that rules out me. And if it's a choice between the woman he raised or that man who he thinks betrayed him...”

“Peter will use whatever he can. So we're all in danger. If he decides to make it that way,”

“So there's still a slim chance he's just going to visit to offer congratulations,”

“If he has some other plan in play, yes.” 

“God Derek, I'm glad you found your family and everything but did they have to be such psychos?”

“They're not my family,” Derek finally gave in and closed the gap between them, putting his hand on Stiles' shoulder, fingers curling into his shirt. 

“Oh my God you are such a sap,” Stiles shrugged off his hand with a jerky movement that belied his reluctance, “No, soppy shit later, research now,” 

“Yes,” Derek sighed, “You go back to your dad's. Laura and I will try and talk to Peter, sort this all out,” 

Stiles nodded, “Let Laura do the talking. I'm not sure how diplomatic you can be,”

~

“Can I ask you a favour?” Laura was silent so he took that for a yes, “If something does happen to me don't leave Derek alone. Try and be his family,” 

Laura glanced across at him for the first time then her eyes flicked back to the road. She had been fidgeting the whole ride, clearing not liking the fact that she wasn't the one driving. Now she stilled and they sat in silence for a moment before she answered, “That's a nice thought Stiles. But if something happens to you Derek will never forgive me,” 

He pulled up at his house and she hopped out of the car, leaving him with no recourse before she yanked his door open. He got out and she followed him to the door like a bodyguard. His dad opened the door before they had a chance to knock. 

“Sheriff, I'm Laura Hale,” Laura stuck out her hand and Stiles' dad took it, surprised. Stiles walked past him into the house while they shook.

“Hale?” his dad asked, “Like Derek?”

“He's my brother. Can I come inside?”

By the time his dad and Laura had made it to the living room Stiles had already booted up his laptop and had started researching. 

“Stiles...” his dad started, the beginnings of annoyance starting to come through his confusion.

“You're not going to find anything to help you on there,” Laura dismissed.

“Please, you stick to your area, whatever that is, and I'll stick to mine,” he clicked on a couple of files before looking up, “Dad do you have your gun?” 

“Why do you need my gun?” his dad asked, eyes narrowed.

“I don't but you might,”

“Stiles, what the hell is going on?”

~

His dad was Sheriff so he didn't freak out. Son coming back from the dead was a legitimate moment of weakness for him. This was more in his area. Mildly. As soon as Laura had explained things (at Stiles insistence while he brought up all the research he could and offered the odd piece of information when Laura was too vague) she left. Leaving Stiles' dad to go organise every gun he owned with a stoney face. 

Stiles looked through the files on his laptop and growled, glad his dad was upstairs and so couldn't hear him. He had nothing. A load of internet research that might be slightly reliable. Information on wolf packs. His two best resources were Derek and Laura and despite their talks earlier he still suspected they'd rather keep him in the dark in a misguided attempt to protect him. He knew no-one with Werewolf knowledge and he felt again a small part of how Derek must have felt growing up. 

Except Derek did have someone. A reluctant someone sure, but someone. He stood up and switched on his phone.

“Hey,”

“Stiles, are you home? Are you ok?” Derek barked down the phone. 

“Yeah, I'm here, I'm fine,” Stiles said, trying to make him calm with his tone of voice, “Dad's getting the gun collection together as we speak. Though I think you might be even less popular with him now, sorry. Laura's on her way back to you now,” 

“Good,” 

Even that small word carried worry with it. Stiles wanted to comfort but there was no time. He needed focus right now.

“I'll call again later then, lots of research to do,” the silence on the end of the line told him that Derek didn't like this idea, “I could leave my phone on while I type but the bill will be astronomical,” more silence then a sigh, “Oh my God Derek I am not leaving my phone on,” 

“I love you,”

“Love you. Be careful,” he said, snapping closed his laptop and saying “Phone you later,” before hanging up. Then he blinked at the phone for a second when he realised that was the first time Derek had said that directly. He fought the urge to redial and stuffed his phone into his pocket. Research. He looked up and his dad was standing in the doorway a strange frozen expression on his face. Oh.

“Hey..”

His dad shifted on his feet a little and asked mildly, “Was that Derek?”

“No it was my other boyfriend, he's about your age and can bench 300, 350 if I call him sweet cheeks,” 

“The day I decided I would teach you to talk I must have ingested something from the evidence locker,” 

“It was Derek dad,” 

“You..” it was awkward, “You and Derek?” 

“Me and Derek,” Stiles agreed because he honestly couldn't think of a way to make this less awkward and so it seemed like being a little shit was as good a defense mechanism as ever. His dad sighed. 

“We're going to talk about this later when one of his relatives isn't trying to kill you,”

“There is a chance he's not trying to kill me. He might be trying to kill Derek,”

“I can sympathise,” his dad muttered, walking out of the room. Then, because he was a better person than that he looked back in to ask, “Is Derek protected?” 

Stiles shrugged, chest tight, “Laura is with him,” 

“I could involved the other deputies--”

“No. It's too dangerous without telling them what they're dealing with,” 

His dad nodded, “But do you have knowledge that'll help matters?”

“Working on it,” 

~

Stiles didn't mean to _sneak_ out of the house. It just kinda happened. His dad was obsessively cleaning and loading his guns, the movement of the cloth soothing his nerves, and before he knew what he was doing Stiles had walked out the front door and around the fence to Mrs Morrell's house without technically saying where he was going. Or that he was going at all. It was pitch black now outside and although that didn't really affect his wolf eyes he knew people might not take kindly to their doors being knocked on at this time of night. Still, he had no other choice.

A man opened the door, someone Stiles had never seen before. Despite living next to the Morrell's for so long and having spent so much time with Derek he'd spent very little time in their house or around their family. He knew Mrs Morrell and her daughter and that she had some other children but he'd never met any of them. 

“Yes?” the man asked, eyebrows raised. 

“Uh, is Mrs Morrell in?”

“My mother is asleep,” A thought suddenly struck Stiles and he scented the air. No, this man was human. Human but now looking at him with a strange expression, “Are you a friend of Derek's?”

“I'm Stiles, I live next door,” 

“Ah,” the man said and in that small exhalation he seemed to be saying so much, “You'd better come inside,”

“Really? I don't want to intrude..” Stiles found himself saying even as he walked in. The house smelled wrong as soon as he stepped through the doorway. For some reason he'd been expecting to smell Derek, even though Derek had moved out three years ago, but instead what he smelled was bleach, herbs, strange medicinal things that made his senses twitch. The man closed the door behind Stiles and he felt his eyes flash. He tried to turn away and hoped that the man didn't notice. He was fighting his claws, trying to stay as human as possible, but this whole situation was making him nervous and he didn't have much control at the best of times. The man put his hand on Stiles' shoulder and before he knew what he was doing he'd turned and rammed him up against the wall with a snarl. The man's heartbeat fluttered rapidly against the forearm he had pressed against his chest. As quickly as he'd done it he pulled back, letting the man's feet touch the floor again. “Sorry, sorry..” he said, adrenaline shaking through him. He started to back towards the door. The man held up his hands appeasingly, 

“It's ok,” he said, “It's ok. Relax Stiles, I'm not going to hurt you,” 

“I know,” Stiles said, knowing no such thing. Now that he wasn't touching the man anymore he couldn't sense his heartbeat. He realised that once he'd crossed the threshold he hadn't been able to smell him either. 

“My name is Alan Deaton, I'm Mrs Morrell's son. And I can answer all of your questions,”

Stiles' back hit the door and he felt a little safer knowing he was so close to outside, “What questions?” he asked, fingers closing around the door handle. 

“Your Werewolf questions,”

His fingers loosened, “Werewolf questions,” he wasn't sure there was any point playing dumb now but it was the only effort he could make.

“Yes,” Alan said with unhelpful succinctness. 

“What, uh, Werewolf questions might I have?”

“You want to know what has happened to you. If it is permanent. If you are a mindless beast now.”

Stiles blinked, “No, no and no,” and strangely it relaxed him a little for this man to be so wrong. Alan raised his eyebrows again. 

“You are a Werewolf,” 

“I am,” Stiles admitted easily, “And I came here to ask Mrs Morrell a question,”

“Ask me your question,” 

Stiles wasn't sure if he could trust this man. But he hadn't really trusted Mrs Morrell either, was just relying on the fact that he'd known her his whole life as a guarantee that she might not try and kill him on sight. He dropped the door handle and straightened his shoulders, ready for a fight, “I want to know how to kill Werewolves,”


	12. Chapter 12

Alan Deaton shuffled him into a little study and forced him down with a cup of tea. Stiles put it aside politely. When trying to procure weapons and poisons from someone who referred to Werewolves and mindless beast he thought it best not to drink or eat anything strange. This room was just like the hallway, it all smelled wrong and made his throat feel tight and his eyes itch. Alan sat down opposite him and sipped his own tea before lowering his hands to his lap. 

“What's the deal here?” Stiles asked, waving his hand around the room. 

“This house is spelled, it masks your senses, just enough to put us on a level footing. It's not an antagonism, just protection,” 

Stiles wondered what it must have been like for Derek to grow up in this house. Anger bubbled quietly under the surface. You had to be a Werewolf to truly understand what the spell around the house was doing. What it was taking away. With no real benefit to the Morrells as far as he could see. Other than proving that they didn't trust Derek. That they didn't mind his discomfort. 

“And your family, how long have they known about Werewolves? Since before Derek arrived?”

“Long before. The reason he came to us at all was because we knew what he was and how to handle him,” 

“A baby,” Stiles said, unimpressed by Alan's tone. 

“A Werewolf baby, yes, like it or not he had special needs and another family might not have been so understanding,” 

“Why was your family?”

“We knew the Hales. We were their emissaries into the human world. When they were killed we felt responsible,” 

Stiles searched his memory for the details of Derek's family's deaths. He only knew it had been a house fire. Derek hadn't wanted to talk about it much and he'd understood too well the pain to press him. He'd always assumed that it was an accident.

“You felt responsible. Were you responsible?” 

“Things could have gone better,” Alan said mildly. Stiles decided he didn't like this man, “So you're here to kill Derek?”

Stiles really didn't like this man. 

“No. I'm here to protect,” he said with a tight smile, picking up his cup again so he had something to do with his hands. 

“Hmm,” Alan took another sip, “Why?”

“Derek is my pack,”

“I know the pull is strong. But Derek made you into this,” and he waved his hand over Stiles' body like he'd been transformed into a slug.

“Derek saved my life if that's what you mean,” 

“And making you his mate?” Stiles started, “Relax, it's not that easy to tell. I just happen to be trained to notice it,”

“What do you know about mates?” the question slid out without Stiles meaning it to. He squared his shoulders, trying to make it look like he was just testing Alan's knowledge. He didn't like the smile that curved the other man's lips when he answered,

“When there is mutual attraction and feelings Werewolves develop a mating bond. Like human marriage it is monogamous and the mate takes up a higher rank in the pack. Unlike human marriage infidelity is never an issue. The mating bond strengthens with time, greater than the pack bond, and eventually mates are able to sense and communicate with each other over greater distances. The breaking of a mated pair is rare but not impossible. It is actually easier to dissolve than human human marriage as all it needs is the loss of feeling on one or both sides and the bond will be severed. That is however uncommon as the strengthening of the bond increases the pair's dependence on each other,” another thoughtful sip for calculated dramatic effect, “and decreases their ability to think autonomously,”

Stiles felt like something nasty had crawled inside him just from how much Alan seemed to have deduced about his relationship with Derek from his simple question. And how much relish he seemed to take in telling him about mates. The answers he'd given were for questions that only lived in the darkest parts of Stiles' mind. The little niggling doubts and fears that had arisen as soon as Derek had admitted their bond. He had need of them to satisfy his curiosity but at the same time he hated hearing them acknowledged out loud. He found he didn't care so much for his own sake, he was more worried about Derek. Telling this man anything about his relationship with Derek felt like a betrayal, like he was sullying the best part of himself. Especially as Alan seemed to take such quiet delight in his assumptions that their bond was faltering before it had even begun. 

“How can you be an emissary if you hate Werewolves so much?” Stiles asked, his voice wavering angrily even as he tried to hide his emotions. The bluntness of the question didn't seem to phase Alan. 

“My family are emissaries. I have been trained that way. It does not mean that I believe it,” 

Stiles looked Alan over properly. He was only about ten years older than Derek at most. There was no way he wouldn't have remembered him growing up next door. Unless, “Your mother sent you away when Derek came,”

“My mother sent us all away. The Hales were our responsibility. But it was too dangerous for us to live in a house with a Werewolf not in control of itself yet. We were sent away to learn about the supernatural, about magic,”

“Hogwarts?” Stiles asked, because how could he not.

“Relatives,” 

Alan remained carefully schooled, his expressions neutral, as he'd probably been trained to be ever since he was moved away. But even Stiles' human senses could trace the bitterness, the little sadness under his tone of calm. Derek's very existence had changed this man's life, had made his mother send him away. It didn't matter if what he'd been taught about Werewolves wasn't true, or that as a baby none of this had been Derek's fault, Stiles was never going to change this man's mind and make him trust wolves. His hatred for Mrs Morrell took root. It seemed like it had always been there in the little ways she'd treated Derek, and how she'd not treated him, but they were always so insubstantial. Sitting here he could truly see how her misguided opinions had hurt these people. 

“Do you have a way to help me?” he asked finally, not expecting a positive response. 

“Why did you set your tea aside?”

Stiles looked down at the cup, surprised, “I didn't want it. Not much of a tea drinker,”

Alan shook his head, “No, you sensed there was something wrong about it. You're clever Mr Stilinski, I'm sure you've researched Werewolves as much as you can. You've read about aconite,” 

“Wolfsbane,” Stiles looked down at his cup. The liquid swished innocently in his hands, “You were trying to poison me?”

“It's only a mild dose of one of the lesser varieties, it would have made you more relaxed, more truthful, but I see now that it wasn't necessary,” he leant forward and took the cup from Stiles hands, “I will help you,”

“Why?” Stiles asked, never one to not look a gift horse in the mouth. 

“I dislike Werewolves, you are correct, I have seen too much not to. But I am not a complete bigot, I understand that while your nature drives you it is not all you are. My mother often said you would make a good emissary and I see that in another life she might have been right. I will help you because I want to see you make the right choice,” 

“Are you always so cryptic or is this just for my benefit?”

“I made my tea the same as yours. Wolfsbane has little lasting effect on humans in most of it's varieties. Anything I give you now can only be used to kill Werewolves. Seems pretty low risk for me. Who is the wolf you want to kill?”

“I don't want to kill anyone,” Stiles backtracked, a little appalled by his justification, “I just want to be ready,” and then because he felt like nothing more than the truth would get him what he wanted he admitted, “Peter Hale,”

Alan inhaled quickly and sat back repeating, “Peter Hale,” in a hushed voice. It was the most animated Stiles had seen him since he'd pinned him up against the wall. He fixed Stiles with a strict look, “He's alive?”

“Yes. You didn't know?”

“We thought Derek was the only survivor of the fire,” They didn't know about Laura either. Stiles decided to keep that one to himself for now, “And he's back in town?”

“He's on his way. Apparently me being turned is against some kind of Werewolf code,”

Alan nodded, “Though it's enforcement is haphazard the penalties for changing humans into wolves without authorisation are strong, something we emissaries negotiated a long time ago. Peter is here to follow the law?” he added the last question with doubt in his voice. 

Stiles shrugged, “We don't know,” 

Alan nodded again, “From what I've heard that was Peter's way. If ever there was less of a pack animal he is it,”

“You've never met him though,” Stiles didn't know why he felt so defensive towards Peter all of a sudden, a person who might be coming here to kill him or Derek, but each bit of disgust that filtered through Alan's carefully constructed stoicism was directed towards Werewolves and that was putting him on edge. He also wanted to hold onto the hope that Peter could be reasoned with and hearing him so thoroughly denounced from all sides – Laura, Derek and now Alan – was making that optimism die.

“No. I haven't,” Alan conceded, “I've only heard stories. Like you,” he stood up and walked to behind his desk. He opened a draw and pulled out a key, “Now do you want my help or not?”

~

Stiles pushed the packet that he'd been given further into his back pocket. Deaton, as it turned out he preferred to be called, had wrapped it several times in something that masked its scent but Stiles still felt strange about carrying around something so deadly on his person. He hopped up the steps to his front door, information spinning in his mind, hoping that his dad hadn't noticed that he had gone.

As soon as he walked through the door he sensed the other wolf. A little more planning and he might have approached with caution but his mind went straight to his dad as he rushed into the living room. His father sat, gun held loosely on his lap at one side of the room. If they'd been attempting to start from a place of non-conflict they weren't doing a very good job of it. But the stranger in the other chair by the window didn't seem to mind. He sat back, relaxed, and his smile grew when Stiles walked into the room while the Sheriff's grip tightened.

“Ah,” was all the stranger said at first, looking Stiles up and down appraisingly. Stiles wished that he'd had more time to learn anything about hiding things from Werewolves. He knew he was putting everything out there right now. His hammering heartbeat, his fear, his need to protect his father. The wolf's smile grew, “I'm Peter Hale,” he said casually, “Nice to meet you Stiles,” 

“Stiles...” his father said warningly. If he turned right now he might make it out the door before the wolf caught up with him. But then he'd be leaving Peter alone with his father. Stiles stepped a little further into the room and Peter's eyes lit up, 

“I was just having a talk with your father. I understand my nephew has been very free with our secrets. My dear Laura sent me his address but when I came into town and looked for his scent I was sure her instructions must have been wrong as this place smells so strongly of him. I understand now of course,” again his eyes raked Stiles in a way that made him want to squirm uncomfortably, “Please come in, sit down,” he waved his hand at the couch like this was his house and he'd forgotten his manners, “I would love to find out more about you,” 

Peter Hale ticked all the creepy boxes and then some. He made Stiles' skin crawl. But he hadn't done anything remotely aggressive. Hadn't made any indication that this was anything more than a visit. Though Stiles' every instinct was telling him fight or flight the small voice in the back of his head reminded him that once this escalated there was no way back and that he had been advocating negotiation. Even if his pocket was full of poison. So he stepped further into the room. His dad stood up and placed a hand on his chest.

“Stiles, call Derek,” 

“No,” the denial left his mouth almost before he had to think about it. If this man wanted to kill Derek then calling Derek was the last thing he was going to do. 

“Oh please do, I'd love to see my nephew again, he left his such a hurry last time,” 

Stiles pushed past his father and sat down, leaving his phone in his jeans. His father sat back down as well, looking between his son and Peter uneasily. Stiles fixed Peter with his calmest look and tried to slow his pulse, “He's busy tonight. Would you like some tea?” His father shot him a confused look (did they even have tea in the house?) and Stiles didn't quite know why he'd asked himself until he realised that his meeting with Deaton was still in his mind and tea as an intimidation tactic was the latest thing he'd learned. 

“No thank you,” Peter said, the smile never leaving his lips, “but please get yourself something,” 

Stiles sank back further into his seat, trying to look relaxed when he asked, “Are we in trouble? Laura said we might be in trouble,” figuring that truth used judiciously was the best way out when he couldn't lie.

“Trouble? Oh, you mean Derek,” And just like that Stiles knew where Peter was placing his focus. Knew he was right not to call Derek. Peter leant forward, “There's no need for you to worry about that,” he placed a hand slowly on Stiles' knee that was probably supposed to be comforting and Stiles had to work really hard at not kicking out to dislodge him, “We have some things to discuss but nothing too serious,”

His dad reached across and closed his fingers around Peter's wrist, “Take your hand off my son,” he said through clenched teeth. Peter's eyes flickered with amusement but he removed his hand and leant back again in his chair. Stiles had a horrible feeling that they were both just being toyed with. He wondered if there were such a thing as Werecats as Peter definitely seemed to fit more into that description. 

“Lets discuss then,” Stiles continued, trying to bring Peter's focus back to him and away from his dad. It worked.

“I'm afraid it concerns the Alpha here, not his mate,”

Stiles felt his dad start beside him, felt himself being looked at, he knew Peter had noticed the reaction too but he kept his head turned forward. He couldn't swap a deadly conversation for an awkward one just now. 

“It concerns me, it's because of me,”

“Ah, I see my daughter has been filling you in. How nice of her. But really Stiles,” and here he leant in again, putting his hand on Stiles' thigh now, “You mustn't concern yourself, frowning ruins your pretty face,” 

The Sheriff made a move forward but Peter was quicker. All three rose at the same time but Peter had slammed his elbow into the Sheriff's face and grabbed Stiles' around the throat before either could attack. The Sheriff fell and smacked his head on the coffee table. 

“Dad!” Stiles shouted before he found himself being dragged backwards over the couch and shoved up against the wall. Peter pinned him there, one arm across his throat, leaning in with one hip to keep his legs from moving. 

“I shouldn't worry, once Derek is gone there will be plenty of Alphas willing to take you into their pack,” Peter purred. He leant in and scented Stiles' neck, dragging his nose across the pale expanse of skin. 

Stiles couldn't move, couldn't reach the package in his back pocket or his phone, couldn't twist his arm enough to get his claws into Peter in any meaningful way. The scent of his father's blood was in the air and he blinked back angry tears as he tried to control his emotions enough to think, enough to find a way out. 

The door slammed open and suddenly the pressure was off his throat. He'd barely managed one breath before Derek was in the room. Peter had already stepped back but a hand still lingered on Stiles' shoulder and with a snarl Derek leapt over the furniture as if it was nothing and tackled him to the ground. Peter's claws swiped at Stiles on his way down and long, red gashes opened up down his bicep. Laura walked into the room moments behind Derek, body language more calm but eyes flashing red. 

Derek and Peter struggled on the floor, the coffee table flying aside and smacking into the Sheriff's leg as he lay on the carpet. Stiles made his way to his dad while Laura moved to her brother. The sound of growling and snarling hit the air but Stiles kept his attention on his dad, kneeling down and feeling gently around his head and neck with shaking fingers. The cut on his dad's head was still bleeding. He looked up for help, shock making him feel weak all over.

Derek had Peter by the throat and he yanked his head up to smack it on the underside of the fireplace, chipping some plaster free. Peter's claws were latched firmly in Derek's leg and were digging in viscously. Laura's hands were around Derek's wrists, trying to loosen his grip. She looked over at Stiles and took in the situation before saying urgently to her brother, “Stiles...” Derek's head whipped around and his red eyes found Stiles' panicked ones. He dropped Peter, who landed unceremoniously in the soot of the fireplace, and reaching down snapped one wrist before Peter let go with his other hand. Then he surged towards Stiles. His fingers traced the fading bruise on Stiles' neck, eyes filled with worry, then they made their way down to the cuts on his arm. His gaze darkened and he looked back to Peter. Stiles grabbed his arm before he could make a move. 

“No, my dad...” he breathed. Derek looked down with surprise as if he'd only just noticed the Sheriff there. He performed the same inspection that Stiles had with delicate fingers then in one fluid movement tugged off his shirt and pressed it to the wound on the Sheriff's head. 

“Call Melissa,” he instructed. Stiles fumbled with his phone. 

“Laura,” Peter gasped from his position on the floor, soot painting his face. 

“Peter,” Laura nodded, one knee on Peter's chest holding him down, “I see you were having problems playing nice again,” 

“Hi, can you get your mom to come over, my dad's hurt,” Stiles said to Scott, the words feeling slippery in his mouth. Derek leant in, both hands still on the Sheriff, nudged up against Stiles with his shoulder. It grounded him for a moment. He tried to put his phone down and with a start he realised his claws were still out. He couldn't concentrate enough to pull them back. He wanted to touch his dad but was suddenly worried about hurting him, “Dad?” he asked quietly, “Dad?” hoping that the sound of his voice would help somehow, even if it was slurred through his wolf teeth. 

“Derek, if you can hold him down for a minute without killing him I think I can help,” 

“There's no need to kill anyone, it was merely an unfortunate accident, I was just having a word with the boy and--”

Laura moved her knee up to lean it on Peter's throat and he stopped talking, raising his hands in mocking submission. Derek grabbed Stiles' hand and put it over the shirt on his dad's head. His fingers lingered for a moment over the skin of Stiles' wrist before he stood and walked over to Peter and Laura. 

“Let him up,” he instructed, “I'll make sure he doesn't do anything else, help Stiles' dad.”

Laura got up slowly and walked past Derek to kneel by Stiles. Peter straightened out his newly healed wrist, cracking the bones a little before he placed his hands behind his head and settled into a more comfortable position, smirking up at Derek. 

“Stiles, I need you to just...” she reached for his hand.

“No, the blood,”

“It's ok,” Laura replaced Stiles hand with her own then put her other hand on the Sheriff's face, cupping his cheek. For a moment nothing happened and then black lines ran up Laura's arm and she shuddered a little, sitting down on the floor. His dad's face slackened a little and his breathing slowed. Laura removed her hand. 

“What did you do?” Stiles panicked. 

“Relax. I took away his pain. It should help,” Laura breathed, taking a moment to come back to herself. 

“We...Werewolves can do that?”

“We can do a lot of things,” Laura said, a faint smile on her lips. 

“Forgiveness is one of our better qualities,” Peter piped up from his place on the floor.

“Shut up,” Laura groaned. She stood and walked back over to him, “What exactly was your plan here? Attack an Alpha's mate in his territory and somehow live to tell the tale?” 

“Stiles was the only one who said we shouldn't kill you on sight,” Derek gritted out. 

“He was? How sweet. And that was before he'd even met me,” Peter grinned. A growl started building in Derek's chest, “But does that mean you wanted my death as well Laura?” Peter continued, ignoring his looming nephew. 

“No,” Laura sighed, “I still don't. But you don't make it easy for yourself. There are humans coming here. How about we leave before we break a few Werewolf laws ourselves,” 

“I'm sorry, are you under the impression that this is over? The boy was still turned illegally. Derek still broke the law. If I don't enforce some sort of punishment or offer a prayer of lenience some other Werewolf is sure to come along and try and exact justice. We're very moral like that,” 

“Get up,” Laura leant past Derek and tugged on Peter's shoulder who rose to his feet easily. Stiles crowded closer to his dad instinctively and he could tell Derek sensed his nerves because his growling escalated, “We'll decide what to do later. Lets just not make this situation worse right now,” she dragged Peter out of the room quickly, not even allowing him a parting word, before he was gone. The door slammed. Derek turned, listening to them leave. When he'd stopped growling Stiles guessed they must have been far enough away. Derek hurried to his side again. 

“Are you ok?” he said, hands exploring Stiles' wounds again, then ghosting lower to trace over his ribs, his back, his stomach and legs, searching for anything else. 

“I'm fine Derek but my dad...” Stiles looked down helpless. It was stupid, he was stupid. He could't help. He didn't know how much time had passed since he'd called Scott, a couple of minutes probably, but it felt like an eternity. Derek's hands came back up to rest on his neck. He tilted Stiles' head up with his thumbs, forcing him to look into his eyes. 

“Stiles, close your eyes,” 

“No, Derek--”

“Close your eyes,” Stiles did as he was instructed, “Now listen. You can hear your heartbeat. Now pick out mine,” Stiles reached out from his own quick pulse and easily felt the steady beat. It connected to him under the chin where Derek's thumbs pressed, and where their knees were touching, but also in that string attached to his chest. Derek's heartbeat was like the sound of home and comfort, “Now, reach out further, listen to your dad's heart,” He stretched out his senses and found his dad's heartbeat, slow and strong. Tears pricked his eyes, “He's ok Stiles,” Finally Stiles felt his claws retract, felt his teeth return to their normal human bluntness. He opened his eyes and found himself looking back into Derek's concerned green ones.

“His head though,” he breathed. A key sounded in the lock to the front door and Derek's grip on him tightened for a moment before Melissa and Scott walked in. Stiles turned and at the sight of them felt his whole body sag. He let Derek pull him away from his dad finally as Melissa and Scott knelt over him and started moving like people who knew what they were doing. Derek leant up against the side of the couch and pulled Stiles between his legs, wrapping his arms around him tightly and resting his nose in Stiles' hair, breathing in slowly. They both watched the McCalls work in silence.


	13. Chapter 13

His dad was ok. Concussion and stitches. Not even a fractured skull. He needed to be kept in the hospital for observation. Stiles had ignored everyone who told him to go home, even Derek's gentle pulling on his hand, and had sat himself at the end of his dad's bed, puzzling over how much this was his fault. Derek had eventually relented and set himself up in the hallway, noting that Stiles' dad probably wouldn't want to see him as soon as he woke up. And Stiles suspected he also wanted to prevent any unwanted visitors as well. Now that the immediate danger was over Stiles felt his instincts pulling him towards Derek, to comfort, to scent, but he pushed them down. He couldn't leave his father. 

Peter was clearly a psycho. Deaton was a psycho. Laura might be a psycho. He'd welcomed himself into a world of psychos without thinking of the consequences to himself or the people around him. Just because he wanted to live. Live and be in love. Maybe he and Derek were psychos too. Maybe that was inevitable. He'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop when he'd been revelling in his new Werewolf powers and this was it.

He leant down and placed his head at the foot of his dad's bed. The bed smelled too familiar to him, full of bad associations, but he was too tired to stay upright. He had to come up with a way to fix this now. Get rid of Peter. Laura would leave. Then he could leave town with Derek to stop any trouble coming to his dad's door again. Maybe he should even leave Derek. He was after all the only evidence any Werewolf seemed to need to legitimately kill him. His life stretched out in front of him, long and empty. 

But Derek would be alive. And Scott. And Scott's mom. And his dad. 

It was strange how this place made him feel like the last few weeks had never happened. Sent his emotions back where he'd been when he was sick and dying. Ready to let everyone go. Something solidified in his chest. 

And as if his decision had had the power to make things happen he looked up and saw Peter was at the hospital room window. 

At first he considered he might be dreaming but the smirk that drew back the corners of Peter's mouth was all too real. Keeping himself as calm as possible, knowing Derek would be through the door if he sensed any distress, he stood slowly and walked over to the window. Peter's smile grew at his approach. He slid it open. Peter opened his mouth but Stiles pressed a finger to his own lips. Peter inclined his head and moved out of the way. Stiles climbed outside. He looked back at his dad. He felt out for his heartbeat. And Derek's on the other side of the wall. He wanted to say goodbye, leave some message, but he'd have to settle for his deeds being goodbye enough. 

He slid the window closed slowly then turned. Peter led him across the roof and down the side of the building via a drainpipe (well, Peter jumped, it was Stiles who'd fumbled with the drainpipe much to Peter's silent amusement). When they got to the parking lot Peter finally spoke,

“So, as much as I would like to think it was my charms that tempted you away, why did you decide to come with me?”

He broke the lock on a car door casually and leant in to silence the alarm. 

“What you said was true. Someone would always keep coming for us. If not you then someone else. I want them to be safe,” 

“Hm, noble,” Peter nodded, sliding into the driver's side and reaching under the dash to hot-wire the car expertly, “You realise that's not really why I came though right?”

“You came to kill Derek and become an Alpha,” 

“I do like a smart boy,” Peter leered, patting the seat next to him. Stiles got in and shut the door, leaning subtly away from Peter in his seat. 

“You were a little obvious,” he said as Peter started the car and turned out of the parking lot. 

“Well, it's so rare that I get tested by anyone with more than a gnat's intelligence, I was a little rusty. You think coming with me will change my plan?” 

“I do. Derek isn't the only Alpha out there. You can get that power somewhere else. The other part of your plan was to hurt him. Or Laura. Or assert your dominance in some pathetically misguided way,”

Peter growled, hands tensing on the steering wheel, “Careful,”

“Why exactly is it that you want to hurt the only family that you have left? Aren't wolves stronger in packs, regardless of rank?” 

“Just because someone is related to you by blood doesn't mean you have to love them. All the family I had died in that fire. Packs can be made again,”

“You took in Laura, raised her,”

“Because I knew she would be useful to me one day. I like taking in things that could be useful,” he glanced at Stiles, “Plus it looked good. Did wonders for my reputation. Of course I didn't want too much trouble, too much domesticity, so I dumped the baby with those druids, thought I'd ruin their lives a bit too while I was at it,” he mused “I probably should have just killed him, but it seemed like a fun idea at the time.” 

“Am I a fun idea?” 

“You my dear boy are very fun idea, but you're also a lot more dangerous than a baby Werewolf. Even if you have similar control over your powers right now,” They were approaching the outskirts of the town now. It was dark and the roads were empty. Stiles shifted in his seat. “When do you plan on threatening me with that gun?” Peter asked casually. Stiles stilled.

“What gun?”

“Please...” Peter chuckled, “Use your nose. It's easy to smell,” 

Stiles lifted his shirt a little and pulled his dad's gun out from his jeans. He looked at it in his hands. Felt the weight of it. Peter's reaction was exactly what he should have expected. As an object it didn't hold as much fear for him as it used to. His dad's gun safety lectures hadn't taken into account the fact that one day he might be up against something that is unable to be killed by bullets. “Oh. This gun?” he said finally.

“You're still too human. Like Derek. An abomination of a born Werewolf. Your first instinct should be claws, teeth... not toy weapons. Of course you know I could beat you in any fight. If you plan on smacking me on the back of the head with that thing I'll break your arm before it moves,” 

“When you came here was there ever any chance that you would have listened to our reasons and given us the benefit of the doubt?”

“I might have listened,” 

“But it would have just been you buying time to sense your opening,”

“Yes,” 

Stiles turned the gun around in his hands and took firm grip of it, pointing it at Peter from his lap. The wolf kept driving, unconcerned.

“So we had no chance from the start?”

“Put that thing down. It won't kill me but if you shoot me--”

Stiles shot. The gun's recoil from the position he was holding it in had his hand flying back against his leg and the gun falling from his grip and to the floor of the car. Peter growled and swerved, pulling the car over to the side of the road and then some, over the embankment and travelling a few feet into the trees surrounding the road. Stiles looked, reached out with his senses, but there was no sign of blood. He'd missed. With no time to think he bracketed his legs on the dashboard and smashed his back into the car door, breaking the lock and tumbling out backwards into the undergrowth. Peter lunged for him but his claws closed around thin air. Stiles knew he had just one chance and so he reached out and whether it was luck or finally being able to control his senses he didn't know, but his hand closed around the gun and he dragged it out of the car even as Peter dived out on top of him. Peter pinned him down to the ground easily, holding his hands above his head, claws digging into his flesh. He held onto the gun but it was next to useless in his trapped hand. 

“I think I gave you a little too much credit,” Peter snarled, “Your naïve plan to run away with me to protect your family was almost believable,” He raised one clawed hand to slash at Stiles' throat and Stiles swung his arm upwards and fired straight into Peter's chest. The force made the wolf collapse backwards and slide a few feet down the embankment but he sat up laughing, “At least that time you were a better shot,” his laughter cut short and he looked down at the wound in his chest with surprise. It was smoking. 

“Wolfsbane,” Stiles explained, scooting backwards on the ground. He wasn't sure how potent this strain was or how much he could trust Deaton, but the stench coming off Peter already felt like tar coating his lungs. 

“Druids,” Peter coughed. Black blood started seeping out of his mouth, “You're working with them?” 

“I'm keeping my pack safe,”

“I see I was wrong about you being too human,” Peter's eyes flashed blue, he stretched out his claws and tried to get up but his legs were too weak. The wound had soaked the front of his shirt with black blood, “You'll make a good Alpha someday,” 

“Tell me,” Stiles inched as close as he felt comfortable, “Did you set the fire that killed Derek's parents?”

Peter looked up at him. His eyes faded back to human as his powers deserted him and with a flicker of pain as he said, “My children were in that fire,” before he collapsed backwards. His body spasmed for a few moments and then he was still. 

Stiles had wanted to make it that simple. Had wanted to tie up all the tragedy in Derek's life to one cause and make things right by eliminating that cause. He'd wanted more of a reason, all the reasons, to kill. But it wasn't that easy. He watched Peter's body for a while, not sure how time made sense anymore, but sure that he had to keep watching to make sure he was dead. Lying there he looked small. 

His ears picked up the sound of approaching cars but all sense of self-preservation was gone now. The adrenaline had left his system and all he felt was exhausted. The crunch of gravel on tires and then,

“Stiles!” Strong arms wrapped around him and dragged him up towards the road. It took him a moment to realise that it was Derek and when he did he sagged to the ground, a deadweight. Derek knelt down with him, “Stiles, are you hurt?” he picked up a fast heartbeat not his own and realised with surprise that it was Derek's. He turned his head and looked numbly at his mate. Took in his frightened expression.

“Derek, is he ok?” came another shout. Stiles turned his head and saw his dad climbing out of a police car in full uniform. It seemed right but it didn't make sense that the same time. His dad was in hospital.

“Yes, I think so,” Derek called, still looking at Stiles uncertainly. A hand touched Stiles' shoulder and he looked up at his dad. 

“Hi,”

“He's in shock,” the Sheriff said, “Have you seen Peter anywhere?”

“Down there,” Derek nodded. The Sheriff drew a gun and walked down towards the body. Stiles looked up at Derek again. 

“Did... did my dad shoot you?” he looked at the bloody hole in Derek's shirt. The skin underneath was smooth and healed. Derek nodded, the scared look not leaving his eyes. Stiles snorted out a laugh. The kind of laugh that bubbles from desperation over into sadness and suddenly he was grasping at Derek's stupid ruined shirt and crying, his whole body shaking with silent sobs. A soft whine of distress escaped Derek's mouth before he pulled Stiles in tight against his shoulder. Stiles buried his face into the scent of Derek and just let it all happen for a moment, let the terror and the sadness consume him. Then in the darkness he found Derek's heartbeat, and his own, and he pulled himself back. He rubbed the last of his tears into Derek's shoulder and looked up into his face, the redness around his eyes taking a while to heal as an indication of how exhausted he was. When his eyes met Derek's he said the thing he needed to say, “I love you,”. They were such tiny words for how he felt but they would have to do, “Don't ever let me do something as stupid as that again,” 

Derek snorted, “As if I ever had the power to stop you doing something you wanted to do,” and his tone was equal parts fond and worried, “Are you ok?” 

It was a difficult question, “I killed him,” 

“Did he hurt you?”

“I think.. I think I'm healed already,” 

Derek nodded and pulled him back in close, performing a not-so-subtle search with his hands to check for injuries, “Your dad's calling for backup, we'll have to go in a minute,” 

Stiles didn't have the concentration to listen to whatever his dad was saying on the radio so he took Derek's words for it. But his body refused to move, his limbs locked, and Derek seemed reluctant to move him until he was ready. He wondered how long he'd been out there. The trip with Peter couldn't have taken more than half an hour but time slanted in his memory between Peter's death and Derek's shout.

“Why did my dad shoot you?”

“He wasn't very pleased that I'd let you get taken while he was out,” 

“Think it'd make him feel better if I told him it was all part of my plan?”

“No,” Derek's eyes flashed angrily, “It doesn't make me feel any better either. What plan?”

“My plan to see how evil Peter really was,” 

“You really needed a plan for that?”

“It was also a plan to keep you safe, to keep my dad safe,” 

“Finding you weren't in that hospital room.. Smelling Peter there..” Derek shook his head, almost speechless, “I can't... You can't do that again. Tell me your plan next time. Tell me something,” 

“Where's Laura?”

“She went back to the apartment, seemed to think that Peter might have taken you there to talk,” 

“She was still trying to see the best in him,” Stiles marvelled, a sad pang of sympathy hitting him thinking of Peter's last words. He stretched out a little in Derek's arms, his muscles finally relaxing a bit, “I think I need a whole week of bed and blowjobs after this,”

“I thought you were over enforced bed-rest,” 

“The key word there was blowjobs, and don't pretend it didn't make your heartbeat pick up, I'm a Werewolf you know,” 

“I'm going to regret teaching you things aren't I,”

“I will be the best damn Werewolf around. Much better than you,” Peter's words swam in his mind and cut off his smile. 

Derek kissed the top of his head, “I don't doubt it,”

“I'm feeling patronised,”

Derek tilted his head back and nuzzled in around his mouth before pressing his lips to Stiles'. He slid his tongue into Stiles' mouth and at the same time shifted their position on the ground so his hand slid up the inside of Stiles' thigh. Stiles moaned out of the kiss. “Still feel patronised?”

“Yes. But patronise me some more please,” 

Derek nipped at his lower lip then drew back, “Maybe when I get you home,” Stiles looked up, expecting to see his dad glaring but found that instead it was the other deputies who were just getting out of their cars with strange expressions on their faces. Oh yeah, a deputy making out with the Sheriff's seventeen-year-old son in the middle of the road might be a slightly strange sight, especially when the Sheriff was pointedly keeping his back turned on the whole affair. 

“I guess that's our cue to get up,” 

They tried to help each other up but ended up both looking a little drunk with wobbling limbs and overly helpful hands. Stiles wasn't sure if that helped or hindered their case. They definitely didn't look like graceful supernatural creatures anyway. When they were standing Derek ignored the looks and put an arm around Stiles' shoulders, “Just to warn you, I don't think I'll be letting you out of my sight for at least a year,”

“Well... about that--”

“Boys,” his dad called. Derek's arm slid to around his waist as he helped him over to his father, though his body was feeling better now that he was off the hard ground. When they got close enough the Sheriff murmured, “I'm going to say I shot him. It was my gun,” he said a little louder when Stiles opened his mouth to protest, “And he was in a stolen car at least. He resisted arrest,”

“What about the...” Stiles gestured to his chest. The Sheriff's lips drew tight,

“I don't know. Whatever you did to him left quite a mess,” 

“Wolfsbane,” Stiles said. He felt Derek tense beside him but all he said was,

“I'll call Laura. I'm sure this must have happened before. There must be ways of covering up Werewolf deaths,” 

“Give me your sister's number. I'll handle it. You take Stiles home. And I mean his home, not yours,” 

“Dad..”

“No. Absolutely no arguments. I want to see him there when I get back or I might go looking for some of this Wolfsbane stuff myself,”

The Sheriff glared at them both until they nodded. He started to go back but Derek called him, “Sheriff,” and he turned, “My sister she... she liked Peter.” 

“I'll be gentle,” he nodded before returning to where his deputies were congregating around Peter. 

“Come on,” Derek said, pulling Stiles back towards his car.


End file.
